


When We Get Home, I Know We Won't Be Home At All (This Place We Live, It Is Not Where We Belong)

by personalized_radio



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst and fluff and shit, Bandits and Outlaws, Bandom Big Bang, Bandom Big Bang 2015, Becomes Unwilling Sheriff of Bumfuck Nowhere, Bounty Hunter Bob, Cowboys and Dragons, Death of minor characters, Dragons, Eloping, Happy Relationships, Human/Dragon Companionship, Implied Black Market Selling of Sentient Creatures, Lawman/Outlaw relationship, Long term engagment, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Love, Sexual Content, To Help BFF Patrick, Wild West, and the Lawmen who catch them, he and ray own a store, with ties and shit idk man idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 69,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3995830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob grew up in high-class Chicago with his best friend, Patrick - a.k.a the love of Bob's life since childhood. Years have gone by since Bob last saw Patrick, who married and ran off to live in a small town in what is commonly referred to as the Wild West. Now, Patrick needs Bob, a bounty hunter living in far off Chicago, to help deal with a problem that Patrick and his small town can't handle on their own. Bob's never been able to deny his best friend a thing, so he packs up and he and his companion, Parade, set off for the small town of Northern Downpour to deal with the outlaw ex-sheriff Pedicone. There's more going on than he could suspect and Bob, after unwillingly becoming a temporary sheriff in a long string of temporary sheriffs', has to deal with a lot more than a minor outlaw. Now Bob must discover how to save a town he never wanted to save, deal with his unrequited feeling for Patrick and the guilt that Pete knows and still accepts and loves Bob, a redheaded outlaw pissing off the rich asshole who owns the ranch most of the town works on, two deputies who prefer to goof off instead of do paperwork, and a judge with only one stop on his circuit and a mild  distaste of Bob.<br/>He never should have left Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Get Home, I Know We Won't Be Home At All (This Place We Live, It Is Not Where We Belong)

**Author's Note:**

> Wow wow wow I'm so excited! Okay, so I finally did it all right and signed up for the BBB (and made a mistake by signing up twice ;u;) and this is my primary! First, I'd like to thank Maggie because she's awesome and let me rant and cry to her pretty often while I was writing and editing this thing, and I'd like to thank the mods for running such a great BBB!  
> Most of all, I'd like to thank Teigh, who put together a seriousl y amazing mix for this fic. They really put a fun, western spin on my cowboy tale and it is exactly what I was looking for - banjos and strings and just a little punky guitar in there. Perfect. Please, please, please listen to the playlist while you read, it'll make it a lot more fun! I'll be putting the download link and the 8track link in the beginning notes, and the playlist and her notes on the end ones so you can be as pleasantly surprised as I was at the choices!  
> Finally, this was so much fun to write and I loved it so much. I've had this idea in my head for almost three years and finally getting to work on it as a full fix was such a great experience.
> 
>  
> 
> [Download Link](https://www.sendspace.com/file/290fdq)  
> [Both Feet And That Winding Knee](http://8tracks.com/teighcorbie/both-feet-and-that-winding-knee)

It was hot. That was the first thing that came to mind when Bob thought on the new climate. Chicago could get pretty high on the thermostat when she wanted to, but she usually evened out during the rest of the year. From the sweat on his back and under his pits, he couldn’t imagine the summer being much better than what was _supposed_ to be fall, but it wasn’t like he had anyone but Parade to complain to. The train under his feet trembled, had been trembling for hours, days, since he and his companion had first stepped onto the metal contraption back in Chicago, but Parade’s head was resting in his lap and she didn’t seem to mind all that much. Maybe it was just Bob and his nerves that were making this journey so unbearable, but with his only source of conversation asleep on the floor, her long neck extended so she could rest her big head on his lap, he wasn’t gonna be able to talk it out anytime soon. Not that he would, if he had the chance. Bob wasn’t much of a talker. He liked to work it all out in his brain. Patrick had always said he’d been stuck in his own head or something, like there was a big door and chain no one could get through unless they were Parade.

Patrick...he’d tried to avoid the real reason he was on this God damned train since he’d first bought the ticket, but Patrick had never been far from his mind, even when they’d gone for years without any real contact.

He sighed and pulled the letter from where he’d left it folded up in the brim of his hat, resting on the seat next to him. He twiddled with it, tried not to think that the familiar handwriting, the writing he’d missed for so long, was making him feel so undone and on edge. Patrick had never made him feel like that before. But then again, Patrick had never gotten married and run off either, until he suddenly had. That was in the past, though, years ago now, and Bob had let go of those feelings when he’d escorted Patrick and Pete to the train station to start their life together, away from their warring families.  
He unfolded the letter again and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at it quite yet.

Parade huffed in his lap and he cracked an eye open and made a face at the look she was giving him. He’d always loved her eyes, the way the sclera was such a bright blue, the way it matched his own irises, like they’d been meant to be. Like the old bonding legends. Her pupils were slitted, reptilian in some lights but more feline in others, surrounded by irises so white and circular he had actually sworn they were perfect reflections of the moon the first time he’d really looked, all of five years old and ecstatic to finally have his companion come to him.Her scales complimented those moons, smooth and cool and black. Sometimes, when he reflected glass right on her scales, she’d turn into a shimmery rainbow and would preen and coo at the light trick. She was beautiful, his pride and joy, his companion and partner. His dragon.

Her wings flapped and flickered a little, but he didn’t expect them to move much. She hadn’t flown in years, nearly twenty now, not since he was six or so. They were strapped down, like she liked them, with the saddle she’d helped him pick, looser than it would have to be when they actually used it but comfortable enough for her lounging. If he was going to take this job, he might as well do it right. He hadn’t needed to ride her in the city, the streets too narrow and the sight of an actual dragon unusual enough to still garner interested, or even scared, looks. The journey was too long to ride her all the way to Northern Downpour, that and their inexperience actually riding together, but being in such an out of the way place, in such a small town as Patrick had described it, it would be easier for both of them for him to just ride her. They’d picked the saddle out together, after much deliberation. Her wings were supported, comfortable for all that they appeared strained and stringy due to lack of use. He could convince her to stretch them out and flap them until they were uncramped every few days but not even Bob had been able to convince her to take her feet off the ground. He didn’t much mind, because flying wasn’t on his to-do list either, and whatever made her comfortable is what made him comfortable.

She snorted again, smoke curling up from her nostrils to lap at the letter.

“I’m not distracted, I’ve read this stupid thing for a week now.” He muttered, scratching at the scales between her eyes. She preened but the smoke didn’t stop until he made a grumbling noise, “What, you want me to read it to you? Again?”

Parade made some sort of agreeing noise and he rolled his eyes, but he still looked at the scratching no one but Patrick’s hand could pen, actually understood the symbols in front of him so he could read them outloud to her.

“‘Dear Bob’,” He started, because ‘Dear Bobert’ was undignified, no matter what she wanted, “‘It’s been years, I hope you still remember me.’ Like I could forget,” he sighed again, less put-upon and more sad. His feelings for Patrick had been let go a long time ago, even his resentment of Pete for taking his best friend away, but it still made him sad to think about. How could Patrick ever think Bob could forget about him like that? “‘Before I get to what I need to tell you, I thought a little preface would be helpful. After Pete and I left Chicago, we went West. He had a few friends from his law school, you know how lawyers can be,’” Bob couldn’t help but smile. Pete’s lawyer friends had always been a riot, when Bob and Patrick actually saw them. Rexha had probably been Bob’s favorite, a hardass professional in the court but a lady who could drink him under the table outside of it. “‘They gave us a place to stay until we could figure everything out. In the end, Pete, Corktree and I settled into a small town named Northern Downpour, along with three of his ‘professional’ friends. It really is great, and I’d always wished that you could come to see it.’”

She made a comforting noise and Bob realized that he’d been squeezing one of her horns. He let go, rubbed the base in apology and took a breath. He and Patrick hadn’t spoken since the Stump-Wentz’s had gotten hitched, but every once in awhile he’d opened a package to uncover a new book on his birthday or a dusty knickknack he had just known had come from Patrick. Corktree and Parade had been close, spending time together often when Patrick and Bob had been living together in an apartment, half so they could survive away from their parents and half so Patrick would have a safe place to meet with his then-secret-boyfriend, the infamous son of the Wentz family, his own family’s political nemesis. Parade had been almost as sad to see Corktree go as Bob had been to see Patrick leave, but a dragon was always loyal to their companion and when Pete had gone, so had Corktree.

“‘The only problem,’ and of course there’s a problem,” Bob shook his head, getting back to the letter. Where Pete was, trouble was bound to follow, “‘The only problem is the sheriff’s department. You see, Northern Downpour was founded by the Morrison family generations ago and the family still lives nearby. Over half the population, small that it is, is employed by them on their dragon ranch.’”

She made a noise and he agreed. Years ago, dragon ranches had been notorious for abuse and cruelty. It hadn’t been until Senators’ Armstrong and Hoppus of California had started the No More Abuse campaign which had exposed and shut down those cruelty camps. Since then, ranches had been on a much stricter watch. Dragon meat was illegal in every state and in most countries around the world but their scales and claws and even their blood and guts had myth after myth about them. There were better, painless, ways to get scales and claws and even blood from dragons but most ranches had preferred the faster methods. At the same time, Patrick and Pete both had grown up fighting for dragon rights along with Armstrong’s and Hoppus’ sons, one of the few issues their families had agreed on, and one of the things Pete had focused on in law school. If Patrick was okay with Morrison’s ranch, enough to ask of Bob what he had, then it must have been clean. “‘I’ve opened my own store along with a friend I made in town. Pete’s opened a law firm, and it isn’t large, but its ours, Northern Downpour. We’ve made a life here. The only problem is the sheriff... A few years back, before we moved here, the sheriff was killed under mysterious circumstances and found in his home with his wife. Only his dragon was left, hidden away in a nursery. Since then, Northern Downpour has had a long list of corrupt or weak sheriffs and deputies. Our latest, Pedicone, has gone rogue, leaving the town sheriffless and without any help. We have a group of do-gooder outlaws but they’re being hunted mercilessly by the Morrisons and aren’t likely to appear anytime soon. The bank’s terrified of a stick up, as are most of the businesses. Even Toro and I. In the last town meeting, I recalled that you had been close to opening your own business and from the news coming from the city, you’ve made a bit of a name for yourself as a bounty hunter. It’s very short notice, I understand, but this is the reason I’ve written.’”

Bob grunted when she lifted her head and blood flowed back into his legs. His toes and feet tingled but he ignored it and let her stretch out and resettle before he continued reading, “‘I want to hire you to come and capture Mike Pedicone before he hurts anyone else. One shootout is quite enough for my taste, especially because it was so close to Liberty and Legality (Pete’s business. Isn’t the name great? Don’t tell him I said that, his head is big enough),’”

She chuffed in amusement and Bob couldn’t help but agree with his own laugh. For all that he’d resented and been jealous of Pete for a, relatively short, time, he had liked the man or he never would have witnessed their wedding for them. He and Patrick’s sweetness made Bob’s teeth ache sometimes, but it really was heartwarming how in love they were with each other. Bob was glad to see that it was still true, even after the last three, almost four, years.

“‘Anyway, I and my neighbors have scraped together quite a hefty reward for his capture and return to the police department. Though we do not have a sheriff, we have two trustworthy deputies willing to watch him until the city coppers can come to collect.’”

Bob wasn’t quite sure how Patrick got ‘hired felon finder’ out of ‘I might open up my own detective agency after a few years in the Chicago force’ and a few bounty hunts. Especially because Bob had graduated from the police academy, spent half a year as the lackey for the corrupt bigwigs of the Chicago mob, and gotten outta there like a dragon was on his ass. By the looks of it, neither did Parade, but he wasn’t gonna argue with Patrick’s letter, rather than Patrick himself. Worse, he’d tried to keep his name out of the news when it came to his bounties. All the better to stay under the radar when your name wasn’t recognized by the guys you were trying to catch.

When he’d gotten on the train, he’d been sure that he was just going to visit, see if he could help with anything else because he tried to keep business and pleasure separate, and return home with a calm heart because he’d seen for himself that Pete had been taking care of Patrick right. But during the overlay of the second night, he’d found himself looking at saddles and realized with a loud sigh (and Patrick had never made him sigh so much before, but Bob couldn’t quite pinpoint when Patrick had gotten quite so exasperating and worrying)  that had gotten him a number of curious, pitying looks, that he could never say no to Patrick, not even over a letter. The saddle had been bought and here he was.

“‘I hope I see you soon, Bob. Pete and I miss you.’ And then he signed and dated it.” Patrick’s signature hadn’t changed much, it was the same swooping ‘P’ and messy eight-‘s’ hybrid. Instead of the usual ‘M’ over that hybrid, though, was a ‘W’, thick with ink like Patrick was still a little giddy about adding it to his signature. It didn’t sting anymore to see it, not like it had when he’d watched them sign the marriage license at the courthouse. Instead, it made a small smile touch Bob’s lips again, sad but genuine.

“At least he’s happy,” He finally admitted and refolded the note. He slipped it back into its spot in his hat, tucked safely between the crown of the black hat and the white ribbon a flower seller had given him before he’d gotten on the train. The hat, satiny black with a high crown and wide brim for shade, had been with the letter. Possibly as a joke on Patrick’s side but also because he might actually need it in the sunny parts where he was headed. His jeans were tough and worn, pulled from his closet where he’d hidden them after his last unplanned visit to the sunnier, sandier parts of the U.S. on a hunt and his shirt covered as much skin as he could get it to. The last thing he needed was to come home covered in stinging, itching red and be laughed out of Chicago. The women at the store had offered a pair of matching leather gloves with the saddle and he’d thought it best to take the deal. Somehow he’d managed to colorcode it all. Or maybe he just had too much black, because his new hat matched his old jeans matched his new saddle and gloves matched his sturdy old boots. The only color he had was the worn red of the shirt, pinstriped with black because how had Bob not noticed that he only had black clothes, solidly colored or accented? It didn’t bother him much, but it made the pale blond of his hair stand out all the more. At least he matched his dragon. If she looked respectable in black and blue eyes than he could probably pull it off, too. And who did he have to impress anyway?

It was his God damned nerves striking him again, was what it was, and the closer he got to the last stop, the more apparent the nervousness came. That last stop wouldn’t be far now, after nearly four days on this God forsaken train. He’d left the day after he’d gotten the letter, packed everything he thought he’d need for a few weeks away into a suitcase and gotten Parade’s shit together in another, bought a ticket for the first train going West in the right direction to the closest city to Northern Downpour. He had been gone with a telegraph to his parents in the unlikely case that they noticed he was gone. Even with those feelings for Patrick gone, he was still Bob’s best friend and someone he loved, and he needed Bob’s help.

Parade just made a huffing noise again and went back to sleep.

-

Yes, Bob had been correct, it was very, very hot and he already kind of hated it. The hat helped a little, kept the sun out of his eyes at least, and Parade didn’t mind strapping the suitcases to her saddle. He had solid ground under his feet again, and that was a great thing, even if that ground was sandy and unfamiliar against the hard soles of his boots.

“We’re here, sweetheart,” He couldn’t help but sound desolate, leaning against Parade’s side. Her head reached his shoulder when she was sitting and it was the perfect height for him to rest his forehead against and take a deep breathe. People and dragons milled around them, more dragons than he was used to since big cities like Chicago didn’t have the room for them, but he didn’t notice any of them. He felt her tail curl around his legs and one of her wings shook loose of their straps, wrapping around his shoulder and protecting him from the outside world like she always had.

Finally, he nodded against her scales, letting them scrape lightly against his skin, and her wing retracted, tucked back into its strap. He tied it again and tightened the saddle up so it was comfortable but steady. They had a small ride ahead of them, about an hour if his maps were correct and, due to the Morrison ranch, there would be no flying, even if either of them had been willing. Ranch land and the miles surrounding them were no-fly zones for the safety of the riders and the dragons, likely to be grounded by cowboys who thought they might be confused herd dragons in the sky. Bob and Parade just had to follow the river and make sure they didn’t get lost in the desert before they found the farmland that marked the beginning of Morrison’s headquarters, and Northern Downpour. From what Bob had been able to find when he’d made a precursory search for exactly where on the map this Northern Downpour had been located in the West, an otherwise large expanse of ground, it had been built on a stretch of land that had previously been filled with river - presumably the one Bob and Parade were meant to follow until they reached the town. The river had been dammed off into an offshoot leading to the larger reservoir miles away and the land had been bought up, from the desert surrounding it to the newly created farmland and forested area nearby. The town was build for what had, at first, been housing for the miners working in the cave systems close by and their families, and then, after being bought by the town council, for the people working on and around the ranch. Bob was a little suspicious of the location, but where Patrick had chosen to settle hadn’t been any of his business until now.

Making their way out of the train station wasn’t exactly arduous, but it was time consuming and he wanted to get into town before night fell. By the looks of it, that wasn’t going to happen but he could always hope. If anything, he and Parade would blend into the night as they rode, as long as he kept his hair and face covered and she kept her spikes withdrawn. Those bone white things would flash in the night darkness like beckons, catching any and all light the sky had to offer and showcasing their position to any bandits or outlaws who happened to be looking. She wouldn’t pull them out unless she felt they were in danger, though, so he wasn’t worried about that. It was once he got into town, with no idea where to go and no clue where Patrick or Pete lived or who _Toro_ was, that he’d worry.

They traveled fast but not hard. He didn’t want to tire Parade out and she wasn’t used to his weight as well as her own, not to mention the added pounds of their luggage. She didn’t complain, not even when she’d started too fast and he’d had to grab her horns to stay on her back, so he tried to keep his own complaints to himself. The saddle made it a little more comfortable for them both but it didn’t quite help him balance like he knew he should have been able to. He’d been out of the city, but nowhere rural enough that he and Parade had thought about riding before and he could see where that oversight was coming back to bite him in the ass. He’d be feeling it tomorrow, if he ever found the fucking town.

The desert was, well, sandy, but not like he had imagined. It was rolling hills at some points on their journey but, more often than not, it was just hard ground instead, infertile and dry and cracked like there had been a mini-earthquake, but not sand. Every once in awhile, they’d come across slightly rich land where small crops grew or a small pond with surrounding trees full of small green leaves, and Parade would pause to investigate, see how desert water tasted before letting Bob near it. It was slow going at first, until they’d come across enough that she stopped halting at every green or wet thing they saw, but by then Bob had developed a new problem. The lower the sun got, the cooler it became. By the time the buildings he could only assume marked the entrance to Northern Downpour were in view, and there were patches of green grass and small ponds and the land was moist again, good enough to grow from if Bob’s inexperienced eye was correct, it was also freezing and, while his body temperature regulated companion seemed fine, Bob was going to lose his ears any moment if he didn’t find warmth.

Bob entered Northern Downpour for the first time walking next to his proud dragon, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans and his hat tipped up so he could see just what he had walked into. The sun had completely disappeared. Only the light of the moon gave him way and most of the buildings down the only street he could see at all were dark inside. It must have been well past nine since he and Parade had stopped for a quick dinner and to figure out where the river had managed to disappear to between one step and the next, and he hadn’t expected many placed to be opened, but not for all of them to be closed, either.

“Maybe this is a ghost town?” He asked out loud, because the quiet would get to him if he didn’t. Parade made a chuffing noise, not amused but not warning either, so he patted her and moved on ahead. His ear perked the farther into town he moved and he finally noticed faint tunes.

“Music,” He nodded, “So, at least they have music. Can you imagine Patrick anywhere that didn’t have music, Parade?”  
She did murmur in amusement at that so he grinned at her, for her comfort as well as his, and started following the music. Down the street, just out of sight of the entrance into the town, was a brightly lit building. It was tall but somehow still stout, like a building that had been stretched wrong, and just a little bit lopsided. It didn’t quite look safe, but it was probably safer than freezing his ass off out here, so he followed the moon’s path until he didn’t need it anymore.

The door wasn’t quite what he was used to, two swinging batwing doors, but he wanted the warmth of the fires and possible electricity and information inside more than he wanted to examine their doors.

Parade followed him inside, head held high and back arched. He could just see the tips of the white spikes along her back so he ran his hand down her neck until they disappeared again. He felt one prick his palm but he’d rather it break his skin than the expensive saddle on her back.

The doors swung closed behind them and the room went quiet.

‘It’s one of those towns,’ he couldn’t help but think. This was going to be one of those moments. He hated those moments, he hated being the center of attention. Patrick was going to pay so much for this.

“Howdy, stranger!” The barkeep called from across the squat room. Bob had been right when he’d looked at the building outside. The ceiling was low. Not so low that he and Parade couldn’t stand up, but low enough that the tall barkeep wouldn’t have to stretch onto his toes to reach it, and he could hear light thumping from upstairs. The music was coming from up there as well, so he could only assume there was dancing. Possibly some kind of party, if Wentz had made a home here.

“Hey.” Bob finally said, his attention dropping back to the barkeep. Parade flicked her tail at him and Bob tapped his fingers against  her scales and came closer. Dragons set or lay all around, against the wall or at their companion’s feet. There was one behind the counter, watching them coming like a hawk. He looked more snakelike than Parade, with wide green eyes and slitted pupils and some sort of yellow pattern against the red and black of his scales.

“What can I get ya’?” The barkeep smiled wide, “And what can I call ya’?”  
“Um,” Bob cleared his throat, “Something warm, if you’ve got anything. My name’s Bob Bryar, this is Parade.”  
“Ryland,” The barkeep offered a hand and Bob shook it, “This is my baby girl, Night. Night, can you get Parade some water?” he looked at Bob, who nodded, and Night made a keening noise and was gone.

She returned just as Ryland was placing a tall mug of steaming joe in front of him with her head tilted almost completely sideways and a bowl of water in her jaws. Ryland laughed at her as she set the bowl on the counter with barely a spill and Parade took a dainty lap at it, like she wasn’t dying to drink something. Bob took a long gulp of the coffee and felt it warm his icy fingers and face. He took another and then pressed it against Parade’s face and let her sap some of the warmth into her freezing cold scales.

“So what brings you to Northern Downpour, friend?” Ryland smiled, slinging a tall bottle of beer down the bar when three fingers went up in that direction, “Business or pleasure?”  
“A little of both,” Bob said after a few more seconds of enjoying feeling in his fingers, “I’m, um, looking for someone. He and his husband sent me a note about a week ago. Name’s Stump-Wentz.”  
“Patrick! Or Pete, but you look like more of a Patrick friend!” Ryland enthused, “You’re here for the job!”  
“Um,” Bob blinked, because a murmur around the bar had gone up and he didn’t want to offend by looking around but he couldn’t help it, “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find him, would you?”  
“Oh, yeah, he’s upstairs! He didn’t mention you’d be coming!”  
“Yeah, He forgot to leave a return address,” Bob sighed, because that was just like Patrick, “So I couldn’t tell him I was coming.”  
“This is great! That Pedicone has been giving us all so much trouble. Come with me, I’ll show you what’s what. Suarez! Suarez, you ass, get out here!”  
Another man appeared from another door, scowling and holding a towel threateningly, “Blackington, you better watch yourself before I have to cut that smile off your face,”  
“Oh, darling, you always know what to say,” Ryland flirted, “Watch the bar for me, sweetcheeks. I’m taking Mister Bob Bryar to see Patrick.”  
“You’d better hurry then. From the sounds of it, Frank and Dewees are trying to get him on the stage and you know he won’t be free the rest of the night if they manage to get an instrument in his hands.”  
Bob knew that was right, even if he didn’t know the people in town. Patrick was an amazing musician, he could play any instrument you gave him, even if he hadn’t seen it before in his life.

He finished his coffee with a grateful look at Suarez and then was off the stool he’d managed to collapse on and after Ryland, Parade at his heels. She was eager to see Patrick again, too, maybe even Pete. Definitely Corktree. He’d tease her later, when his own heart wasn’t speeding up just a little bit at the thought of seeing Patrick again and, he’d admit, Pete, as well.

Ryland led him through the door that Suarez had come from, down a narrow hallway to a steep stairway. Ryland had to duck to go up but Bob just had to bend his shoulders a little because he was kind of broad. Parade didn’t have any problems, narrowing her body and tucking her wings in tight to her back and sides to follow them. He was half scared that she’d go through the floorboards but they held steady under her, much to his relief. Together, they followed Ryland into a bigger room, taller than downstairs with a big floor to ceiling window facing outside. It must have been great to see during sunrise or sunset, nice to sit in front of on cold days if they had those. There was a roaring fire in the farthest wall, warming the whole room. A small stage set adjacent to it, and on it set a familiar plump, redheaded man. Bob’s heart thudded hard and he felt something in his stomach that he viciously suppressed until it was hardly anything. Most of all, he felt relief and happiness because he’d not seen that smile on Patrick’s face until the moment the train had started to leave and he knew he and Pete were finally safe, because Bob had done it all to make sure they had been. He had a guitar in his hands, playing a simple progression and singing something to go with it. Bob couldn’t let himself focus on Patrick’s voice, the voice of an angel if ever an angel had a voice, but he could let his eyes take him in. He looked healthy, fuller and not as pale, with hair a little lighter than before, probably from the sun. He looked happy and safe, natural on that small stage with a beat up, old guitar and a tune on his lips.

His eyes, bright and filled with fun and music, slid up at the sound of the door opening and his fingers stopped on the strings, cutting off almost mid word.

“Bob!”

“Patrick,” Bob breathed out slowly, had his arms open and ready when Patrick launched off the stage, leaving the guitar behind, and threw himself into Bob. Bob held him tight, squeezed and squeezed and hid his face in Patrick’s shoulder and just breathed him in because he’d missed him so _fucking_ much. Now that he was back with him, it felt like a weight was lifting off his shoulders, leaving him and letting his lungs work again. Patrick squeezed back hard and he was saying something but all Bob could understand was, “-missed you so much, Bobert!”

And it shouldn’t have made him feel so warm, that Patrick had missed him too, because he had been Patrick’s best friend since they were toddlers, had grown up together. It made sense that Patrick had missed him and Bob knew that it didn’t mean what he’d always hoped it would mean when he was younger, before Pete. But it still did, still made his heart beat faster in his chest.

“Shit,” Bob sniffed, pushed him away a little so he could look at him properly, “You got taller, Leprechaun. And tanner.”  
“I’ve been living in the desert,” Patrick laughed, loud and bright and so joyful. Bob couldn’t help but look around because the only person that could ever make Patrick sound like that must have been close.

There he was.

Pete stood a little aways, watching them and grinning his own unique smile, big and wide and fond. He _knew_ how Bob had felt about his husband, had known and had cried with Bob a few times over it but had never begrudged what Bob and Patrick had. He’d been jealous of others, but never of Bob and Bob respected that, respected that Pete could be mature enough to understand Bob’s love and Patrick’s love and the difference between them. And when Pete saw him looking, met his eyes with big brown orbs, his smile dimmed a little bit, looked suddenly shy and awkward, but he still looked _happy_. Happy to see Bob even though he knew how Bob still felt, and Bob couldn’t help but open his arm a little farther to make room, “Hey, shortass. Get over here.”  
Pete brightened up again almost instantly and dived.

When Bob had reoriented himself on the floor, he squeezed Pete tight, almost as tight as Patrick and breathed out slowly, “I missed you guys, a lot. Chicago is no fun without you.”  
“Please,” Patrick smiled, “You were what always made Chicago fun.”  
“Nah, it was definitely us.” Pete smirked, ruffling the blond hair that Bob’s hat had uncovered when it fell to the floor, “But now that you’re here, we can make Northern Downpour fun, too!”  
“Fun? This isn’t fun!?” A new voice broke in.

“Shut up!” Pete threw over his shoulder, “Pattycakes and I are reuniting with our long lost friend, Bobert!”  
“Hey!” Bob shoved at their faces until they let him up and Parade pressed her face to his back so he could sit up without too much effort, “It’s Bob.”  
“Sure thing, Bobert,” Pete agreed before turning his attention to Parade, “And there’s my favorite girl! How’ve you been, dollface!?”  
She made a happy, keening noise reserved for when she was truly pleased with someone and shoved her face into his hands for the special face scratches that only Pete could ever get quite right. From somewhere to their left, Corktree skidded clumsily forward and pressed his beak to Bob’s face, skidding the last few steps on accidently and, more accurately, headbutting Bob’s face until he reached up to rub behind his stumpy horn, “Hey, Corky.”

Corktree preened at him and Patrick laughed again, “He’s missed you a lot, too. I’m so glad you’re here, Bob.”  
“Yeah, well,” Bob gave him a stern look, “You didn’t leave a return address on purpose, didn’t you? So I’d have to come here instead of just sending a letter.”  
“I have my lawyer present, but I still plead the fifth,” Patrick said fondly and hugged him again, “I really did miss you, Bobert. I hoped you’d come.”  
“Of course I would,” Bob sighed, but he still hugged him back before standing up.

“And who is this hunk?” The ‘fun’ voice from before broke in and Bob looked away from Pete and Patrick to take in their new arrival. He was tall like Ryland, with soft, floofy brown hair and feminine features. Another man had an arm around his waist, tall and skinny like the new guy and pretty but a little more masculine and darker skin, possibly of Spanish heritage. They were both wearing form fitting suit pants and waist coats, a soft blue and grey collection for the more feminine of the two and a dangerous black and white for the other. If Bob had met them in town, or even in the city he’d just come from, he would have been a little more aware of his own appearance, sweat stained and hot and cold, somehow at the same time. But they both had big smiled on their faces with bright red cheeks and drinks in hand. Their shoes were scuffed from dancing and their clothes, as nice as they were, were disheveled and unbuttoned in a few places.

“Guys, this is my best friend, Bob.” Patrick stood up with Pete’s help so he could lavish Parade with his own love, “And this beautiful girl is Parade. Bob, this is Bill,” The floofy haired one waved one thin fingered hand, “And Gabe. Gabe owns this place.”

Gabe offered his hand and Bob shook it, smiling a little, “It’s nice. You have great coffee.”  
“Ryland’s great,” Gabe laughed, “These are our companions.”  
He motioned to a the space behind him, where two dragons were wrapped around each other. They were obviously mates and that answered, at least partially, the question forming in Bob’s mind at the possessive way Gabe’s arm fit around Bill’s waist.

“Cobra’s Gabe’s,” Bill smiled and slid his fingers across the forehead of the bigger dragon, all purples and tans, with a light underbelly marked only by the circles and stripes commonly associated with the king of the cobras. Bob had only seen one in his life, but he could immediately spot the pattern in the circles and specks of Cobra’s scales.

“And this is Santi.” Bill’s hands trailed from Cobra to his own companion, who flickered her tongue at him playfully.

Santi was smaller than Cobra, but her eyes were more dangerous than his. She was obviously the dominant of the two, despite the way Cobra had curled himself around her inky black scales. Her eyes were yellow, pupils red and wider than most other dragons. She had red lines and dots starting from her eyes and stopping around her shoulders, circles and curves like intricate doodles. She really was beautiful, but Bob thought that about most dragons.

Parade made a huffing noise and Santi made one back and Parade tensed for just long enough that Bob was afraid there would be a problem before she turned to liquid under his hand.

“Corktree and Parade should catch up,” Patrick smiled, “Why don’t you go and hang with the other dragons, Parade? You’ll have fun.”  
She glanced at Patrick, but her eyes settled back on Bob. When he nodded, she flicked him with her tail and followed Corktree, Santi and Cobra over to the mass of curled up dragons, all grooming each other or sleeping.

“She’s gotten bigger,” Pete mentioned, looking at his own dragon and how Parade had begun to dwarf him. At one point, Corktree had been able to eat Parade, no problem.

“Training.” Bob smiled, “Now that the doctors finally admitted defeat about her wings, they have her on a different regime so she’s actually growing properly.”  
“That’s great,” Patrick wrapped his arm through Bob’s, just like he used to, and motioned, “I’m glad she’s getting better. She was so sad when everyone was trying to get you two to fly.”  
“She can’t…” Bill started then seemed to think better of it, “Sorry, nevermind. None of my business, really.”  
Bob just waved his hand, “It’s not a secret. We got into an accident when we were young. She tried flying with me as a joke but she wasn’t strong enough to keep us up and we almost drowned. She hasn’t wanted to fly since and, truthfully, neither have I. The doctors all wanted her to anyway, something about not being a _proper dragon_ , or some bullshit. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the best around, wings or no. So we just strap them down so they don’t get in her way and we don’t worry about it.”  
“That’s awesome,” Gabe agreed, offering his fist. Bob bumped it after a few seconds of confusion, “Cobra’s like that, kind of. He can’t release his spikes.”  
“No shit,” Bob smiled a little, “Medical or?”  
“Kind of. He’s got a thin layer of skin over the spike slots. He has to break through it but it just grows back if he doesn’t have them out all the time. The doctors wanted to put him on some hormone to reduce skin growth, but fuck that. He doesn’t need his spikes as much as he needs to be able to heal over if he gets hurt.”  
Bob nodded, offering his own fist and laughing a little when Gabe enthusiastically bumped back. Everyone was so enthusiastic here. No wonder Pete and Patrick fit in so well.

“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Patrick squeezed his arm, “You have to meet everyone tonight so they don’t all clamor over themselves to meet you tomorrow. You ready?”  
“When am I ever ready for your crazy?” Bob teased, but he let Pete take his other arm and drag him around to meet the others.

By the time Bob had met everyone in the room, he’d lost count and, truthfully, lost most of the information as soon as it had been given to him in the first place. The last person he’d been introduced to was Mikey Way though, and he remembered that clearly because of the besotted looks on both Patrick’s and Pete’s faces. A small part of him cried out that he’d be damned if he had to watch Patrick fall for yet _another_ person that wasn’t him, and drag his husband along with him, but that part was drown out by the rest of Bob, who really just wanted Patrick to be happy and stay that way, if he would. Pete made him happy, but if this Mikey Way character made him happy too, Bob didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from running for congress, making sure he got in, and changing the few laws necessary to make it possible for him to witness the first polyamorous marriage in the West. It was probably unhealthy, and Parade would probably manage to stop him before it got out of hand, but until then, he’d have to keep on eye on this Mikey Way.

But it was late and he was tired from the long train ride, the seemingly longer adventure with Parade to Northern Downpour, and the discovery that the social politics of a small town were no different than the social politics of a major city. He didn’t protest when, rather than being allowed to follow the nice lady Asher to her B’an’B, Patrick demanded that he stay with them before Pete could. Instead, he just let them drag him out of the bar with a promise to pay for the coffee later and towards their home to sleep, Parade following behind him with Corktree on her tail.

-

Bob woke up feeling rested for the first time in a long time. His ass and thighs ached like he’d had a wild night and for a moment who wondered who the hell he’d brought home last night that could get his muscles that sore and where he could find him again, before he remembered exactly what he’d done yesterday. The riding, while smooth enough for a first time, wasn’t something he or his dragon were used to. She’d probably be sore when she woke up, too.

Speaking of. He opened his eyes, took in the simple brown of the ceiling above him and the way the sun was making its way into the room slowly. He was used to waking up at sunrise, at first to go to whatever job he’d happened to pick up while he thought about what he was gonna do with his useless life when he didn’t have Patrick and Pete to keep him company and he’d given up on the only thing he’d actually wanted to be - a fucking police officer, what a joke - and then because his hunts usually required he be up and at ‘em as the soonest convenience. He’d been taking a week off when he’d gotten the letter after a bit of a blotched hunt but here he was. It wasn’t so bad, of course, since the pay was probably good and Patrick and Pete were here. Corktree, too, and Bob hadn’t really realized that he’d missed the shit until he’d pressed up against Bob’s side after they’d all made it to the Stump-Wentz residence.

Still, he didn’t have to be up, not if all he was going to do was track down this rustler of an ex-sheriff in this podunk down. He rolled back over, buried his face in Parade’s scales, and let sleep take over again. No gunslinger was up this early, good or bad.

“Bob? Bobert, you might wanna get up, soon, or you’ll be up all night.” Pete’s voice broke through the haze, what felt like hours later. Bob grunted, holding out a hand because where there was Pete, there was -

A hot mug of coffee was deposited without fanfare into his grip and he made a loud, happy noise. One thing he missed the most about Pete was that he always had coffee ready in the morning. Patrick preferred tea and had never made it a secret how much he wanted to convert Bob to the darkside. Parade tried to get into it before Bob moved it away and he finally set up so he could drink it before she got her beak in and took it all.

“There’s plenty for you, Parade,” Pete offered and Parade was gone, off Bob’s bed and slithering all around Pete, making cooing noises until he was laughing hard and walking out of the room to get her her own dose of caffeine. While the two to them were gone, Bob sighed and let himself lean against the wall the bed was pressed to. It was cool against the skin exposed by his simple undershirt, a contrast to the steady warmth of the sun. He was sweating, had been doing so since the early hours when the sun had begun to bake the world around him, but it wasn’t as bad as yesterday. He was West, but at least it wasn’t so far Southwest that he was dying of heatstroke just yet. His last journey had taken him to Texas in the heart of summer and it had not been a fun ride for him. When the noises of the kitchen area got too much for him to ignore, he finished off his first mug, shrugged on his shirt and boots and stuffed his gloves into his pockets. His hat, he remembered, was still hanging on the hat rack by the door. He’d have to grab when he eventually pried himself away from Pete’s kitchen. He picked up his bag on the way to the kitchen and, before leaving the room, pulled out the case he’d been keeping hidden until then. When he joined them at the table, there was a plate for him filled with pancakes and syrup, thick and fluffy and sticky and brown and sweet.  
“Thanks,” He commented, filling his mug from the iron kettle sitting on a thick doily next to him before he dug in. Pete just grinned at him, comfortable and at ease and it was like he didn’t care at all that the man in front of him had been in love with his husband, was still a little bit in love with his husband. Pete set at the table with his own plate, a couple less pancakes but much, much more syrup and coffee so pale it could have been milk. They ate together in companionable silence, the only sounds in the room coming from their scraping plates and forks and their dragons eating their own share on the other side of the table. When both plates were clean and Bob was on his third, and usually final, cup of the morning, Pete spoke up.

“It’s been a really long time, man. I’m glad you’re here.”

And the worst part was, he was genuine. He actually _meant_ it and Bob could see that. It only made him feel worse for those feelings he couldn’t control.

“Pete,” He started, “I just want you to know, I, um. I guess, I wanted to thank you. I know I’m not exactly subtle because that’s not who I am, but you don’t ever begrudge me -”

“Begrudge you?” Pete shook his head, looking at him seriously, playfulness of before gone, “How could I? You’re the love of my life’s best friend. You took care of him, of us, and you did everything you could to make sure we...we were able to have this life that we love so much. Even before, I knew that you...you only wanted him happy, just like me. Even now, you only want him...happy. So, I won’t be jealous. How could I? I know exactly how you feel because I feel it, too. You’d never do anything to hurt us as long as I make him happy. You’re family to him, and that means you’re family to me.”

Bob rubbed his face, but he couldn’t help the small smile, a little pale but still there, all the same. “You, too, you know. I want you both to be happy. Patrick, of course, but you, too.”  
Pete gave him another huge grin, stretching across his face, curling his lips and scrunching his nose. Somehow, it was still a little shy, and Bob felt better. He didn’t resent Pete, didn’t hate him, could never dislike him for all that he’d felt Pete was taking his whole world for a while. That feeling was gone now and Bob was glad for it, because he liked the place in him where Pete had taken residence, a small part of him that was dedicated to keeping Pete happy as well. It probably wasn’t healthy that Bob spent more time making sure other people were happy than finding his own slice of happiness but, truthfully, making sure the people he cared about were okay was what made his heart feel lighter than any man or woman he’d ever been with. For all that being around Patrick came close, Bob would probably have chosen for it to turn out the way it had, even if he’d had the choice of having Patrick fall in love with him, instead.

“Don’t you have work?” Bob finally broke the silence, drinking afterwards so he’d stop talking. He had a reputation to upkeep, afterall, and it wasn’t of someone who liked cold coffee.

“Yeah, in about an hour. I don’t go in until a little after eleven. There isn’t much business on Wednesdays, and even if there was, most people know where Patrick and I live.”

“This place is pretty small,” Bob said carefully, not wanting to offend. It _was_ small though. He could see the end of town from the bar if he remembered leaving last night right. The way Pete and Patrick had made it sound, the whole town had been at the bar last night and there’d been possibly fifty people, if Bob had to guess.

“Yeah,” Pete agreed, “Most of the town is employed with the Morrisons' Better Living. We’re an hours’ desert ride from the closest town, let another major city. It’s a dragon ranch so if you fly, you’ll probably get shot down because the ranchers would think you’re a stray dragon confused in the air. They work as ranchers, the people in Northern Downpour, protecting the dragons that Morrison breeds on their drives or as vets. Some are administrators and do paperwork. Basically, if you don’t work in town, you work for them.”  
“Patrick said you opened a lawyer’s office.”  
“Yeah,” Pete laughed, “Liberty and Legality. James, or, well, Deputy Dewees helped me name it. He’s from Liberty, Missouri, so.”  
“Only you would name your legitimate business on word play and a place you’ve never even been to.” Bob teased, shaking his head. It made Pete laugh again.

“Come on, finish your coffee. I’ll take you to meet everyone at the police station. There are only three of them since Pedicone took all the other deputies and made them his cohorts or something stupid like that. Dewees and Frank, Deputy Iero when he’s on duty, though. And Brian.”  
“Brian? Not Deputy Something?”  
“Nah,” Pete laughed, “He’s kind of the jailkeeper. And he’s the circuit judge when there’s a trial, but since we’re the only town around, he’s here permanently until settlers try for another town in the district. If he isn’t called into the city to trial, he minds the station and keeps the place clean for anyone they bring in. He’s a lot stricter than Frank and James, though. He’ll bite your head off if you step out of line, so just a warning. James and Frank said they’d help you however you need them to. Pedicone is...a little bigger than Frank, and a lot scarier than Dewees, not to mention he’s got the former deputies on his side.”

“Why’d he flake out, anyway, this Pedicone?” Bob frowned, filling his mug with the last of the coffee because there was no point in wasting it. Patrick didn’t let Pete have more than a cup in the mornings because it interacted with his medication. When he was done pouring the dark roast, he put his leather case on the table.  
“Well, since this place is so small, the government doesn’t exactly pay us very well. We’re technically on Morrison land, but then technically not because they sold the deed to the town years and years ago, in a sense, with the stipulation that if the police station goes down, the land reverts back to Morrison ownership. Basically, the elder Mister Morrison adds a bonus in ‘donations,’” he used air-quotes, “to fluff up the paycheque for government employees since otherwise, they’d be poor as shit and there aren’t enough jobs to go around if people started trying to double or even triple up on ‘em. It’s legal because while Mister Morrison is mayor, he’s still allowed to fund the city because we’re living off land that he still partially owns. The strange thing about Pedicone is, it was a great job. Yeah, there was the brood that went missing but, if he’d just waited, he probably would have gotten back pay for the fluff money that Morrison had to stop paying for a few weeks. Instead, he shot up the police station with Brian still inside and robbed the church. He tried to rob the bank afterwards, but Frank was able to chase them off with a bluff. The Morrisons’ keep a sizable chunk of fortune in that bank since we’re right next to headquarters, and Greta - she’s the bank teller, she’s scared Pedicone is going to try to hold them up again.”

Pete moved to the sink and let the dishes fall into the suds. He got to work scrubbing while Bob opened his case and pulled his holster out, ignoring the shiny silver and white of the revolver.

“Is that…?” Pete glanced over his shoulder and Bob could feel how his eyes twinkled. Pete had always had a slight obsession with his guns.

“I wasn’t sure what the laws were on trains, so I just left it in the case,” Bob agreed, making sure the safety was on before he loaded and holstered the revolver, “I mean, I’m supposed to catch an outlaw. What kind of ex-police officer, current bounty hunter doesn’t pack when going against a dangerous criminal? He is dangerous, isn’t he? That’s why you called me?”  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded, “He had Brian at gunpoint and he shot one of the tellers. Luckily, Dan’s just fine since Hurley got to him, but it could have been a lot worse. We’re just lucky Brian and Dewees disarmed the other deputies, or it would have been a bloodbath.”

“How many others are there?” Bob frowned, “And Patrick said something about there being a string of sheriffs? Is the new one on his way or something?”

Bob wouldn’t have been asking so much, except that he knew Pete was a gossip. If he was going to find and capture some stranger in the middle of the half-settled West, he needed information and Pete Wentz could work the Chicago scene like he owned the joint. Bob didn’t think a town of a little over two hundred people would cause much of a problem for him.

“Well, Pedicone turned two deputies over. They were new, obviously in it for the power trip and the money Mister Morrison paid them. They didn’t have dragons, weren’t too fond of ‘em,” Pete glanced at Parade and Corktree, curled up together in a sunspot and bathing in the heat, “and Pedicone’s, he’s a mean one. The only reason Dewees and Brian got their guns was because Dewees’ companion knocked ‘em off their feet.”

Pete finished the dishes and pulled the sink bucket from the hole in the counter. Bob helped him carry it outside and they tossed the dirty water into the small, surprisingly lush, garden the Stump-Wentz were growing in back. Bob noticed that Pete hadn’t answered his question on the new sheriff, or the string of ones before. He almost brought it back up but Pete cleared his throat, “And you might as well know. Patrick’s probably told you in the letter, but Northern Downpour has a pretty rough track with sheriffs, or lawmen in general. Apparently we had a good one, a few years before Patrick and I came to town. He was young, but older than us. Around your age, now, I’d say. He was-”  
“In his house,” Bob nodded, “He and his family.”  
“He and his wife, no kids, thank God.” Pete nodded, “His dragon egg was found, not even hatched but close enough to have bonded with them. I think they were trying and got the egg for good luck. He and Brian were close, and from what people say, losing him is what made Brian so...Brian. I dunno. Anyway, since Sheriff Pelissier’s death, the city has been sending us total shit. The guys that are...kind of qualified, but too violent or terrible at their job to keep them in the city.”

“That’s shitty,” Bob said sympathetically. He’d left so he wouldn’t have to deal with guys like that. It had almost seemed like for every good cop Bob had befriended, there were two or five or eight bad ones lurking and waiting to skim off the top of the drug bust or the money seized, like it was their due for upholding the law. It had made Bob sick, too sick to even pretend to follow their orders when they were above him - and with how short of a time Bob had stuck around, there were none below him to be cut off at the pass. Bob had a problem with authority, he’d admit, but he had an even bigger problem with authority that thought it was above itself.

“Yeah,” Pete sighed, “But the worst part is, well...I’ll let Frankie tell that part. The Party Poison gang is a bit of a special thing for him.”

Bob gave him a confused look but, with the coffee gone, his gun in place and the dishes cleaned, they didn’t have reason to stick around when Pete wanted to show him around town. All single street of it.

“Come on, I’ll take you past Lunchbox and Toro and then to the police station.” Pete brightened, and Bob had to respect how he could cast aside troubling thoughts and focus on more positive things. Patrick had always been able to put that look on his face.

“Sure,” Bob agreed.  
They hurried back inside so Pete could pull on his shoes, much more classy than Bob’s boots, and shrug his jacket on. He looked like a city kid, like Bob would have looked had he not had an attire already westernized. The difference was, Pete wore that city look like a weapon and there was no way anyone could mistake him for an upstart in over his head in the Wild West. He looked more like a man looking to start some successful business in the rough-and-tumble American outback, like in the books Bob would never admit to reading, self confident and sure. His tattoos flashed in the sunlight, new ones he hadn’t gotten around to showing Bob yet covering his arms from shoulder to just above wrists, before they disappeared under the nice jacket. Something about it jogged his memory and Bob frowned at the thought. He should have brought something from home for them. For all that they’d been glad to leave, they both loved Chicago as much as Bob did. Had, at least, before his only friends had left and he’d given up on his only real dream. Hunting the scum of the city and dealing with the worst of the police force, it put a damper on even the most idealistic of dreamers. Bob had never been idealistic.

“Corky!” Pete called, “We’re going to S-and-T, you guys coming!?”

Parade made a keening noise and shrugged out from under Corktree, stretching each leg as she slunk to their sides. Corktree followed her, the dark brownish red of his scales nearly as black as hers in the shadows cast by the sunlight in the room. His underbelly, gray from the tip of his tail to the bottom part of his jaw, reminded Bob of stormclouds.

“So, Northern Downpour,” Bob started once the four of them had left the house and Pete was locking up, Corktree’s stormcloud stomach reminding him to ask, “What’s up with the name? Does it rain often?”  
“Ha!” Pete shook his head, “We get light showers every few weeks. It’s actually a pretty cool story, how we got our name."  
Bob knew ‘cool story’ meant ‘I love talking, let me do it more,’ so he braced himself with an arm around Pete’s shoulders and listened.

“See, the story goes that when the Morrisons’ sold the plot of land for the township it just so happened that this huge storm from the North somehow made its way all the way out here. A total freak occurrence. The Morrisons took it as a sign and tried to buy the plot back but the township would have none of it and, so, the town was named Northern Downpour. It hasn’t happened since, and probably won’t happen again anytime soon. The old timers sometimes say that until Mister Morrison is out of office, it won’t rain like that ever again. Kooky, I’d say.”  
“Mister Morrison’s in office? You said that earlier.”  
“Grant Morrison, yeah,” Pete nodded, “He’s mayor. It’s how he makes his donations. He slips some money into the budget used as government payroll. He’s the eldest of two and the majority owner of Better Living, but he has a younger twin. That guy’s not so good.”  
“What’s so bad about him?” Bob kept his eyes peeled, half hoping this Pedicone would come marching up with an eyepatch and a giant, evil mustache. No luck.

“Korse Morrison is a dick,” Pete said succinctly, “And he treats the dragons on the ranch like shit. The rumor around town is that Mister Morrison is trying to get him kicked out of the family business but Korse is holding on through some family loophole. I try not to get into it, since Mister Morrison is a really cool dude, but I’m the only lawyer in town when tax season is over, so I can’t exactly stay away when my client needs me. I work for Mister Morrison, that is. No way would I represent Korse. Mister Morrison’s the one that pitched the most in to pay you to get Pedicone.”

“How much exactly is that?” Bob frowned at him, “Cover our food and shelter and train expenses and I don’t mind catching this guy for you. It’s kind of what I do.”  
“Nonsense!” Pete exclaimed, “Hush your pretty little head, Bryar. It’s a modest enough amount, since not everyone could spare enough to pitch in, so don’t get your panties in a  twist. You’re getting paid for this, like it or not.”  
Bob scoffed at him but he tipped his hat further down to hide his smile. Parade trotted next to him, stretching and enjoying the warm earth under her pads. It wasn’t often they left the city and she liked to soak it all in when they did. He scratched at her head and she tilted into his touch, pressing upwards for a firmer scratching.  
“Here it is!” Pete said proudly, pulling Bob into a building with a little wooden sign hanging from the front, the words “Stump & Toro’s Convenience” painted on in white.

“Husband, mine!” Pete called in greeting, a small bell tolling above them as the door brushed against it, “Torosaurous!”

“Ah, if it isn’t the menace.” A man at the counter smiled at Pete, wide and happy, welcoming despite his words. His hair was large and frizzy, dark like Pete’s, and Bob couldn’t stop his eyes from sticking onto it and not moving for a few moments, just taking it in.  
“Bob, this is Ray Toro. Toro, this is Bob Bryar. He’s our felon catcher.”

“Really?” Ray smiled at Bob, just as welcoming, “Any friend of Patrick’s is a friend of mine, I’d say. Not sure if that goes for Pete’s friends, though. Anything you need from us, I’ll just set it aside as the price to pay for getting that asshole outta’ town. Pedicone, I mean. Pete’s okay, most of the time.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” Bob shook his head but he couldn’t help the smile at Pete’s affronted face. He offered his hand, shaking Toro’s firmly, “But thanks.”

“It’s Ray,” Ray squeezed his hand, like they were old friends. Bob was getting that feeling from everyone he met. He’d never been in such a welcoming place before. There hadn’t even been anyone at the Stump-Wentz residence to collect for his bar tab the night before.

“Bob?” Patrick’s voice broke through, “Bryar, I know that you’re here alone because my dear husband is at work, right?”  
“Of course he is!” Pete called in greeting, “He just sent Bob to tell you that he loved you more than life and he was going to spend the rest of the day in his lonely office, thinking about you!”

“Thanks, Bob!” Patrick shouted back, amused and still charmed, after three years of being married, “I’ll be sure to tell Pete I love him too, when he gets home from work! Mikeyway is at his office needing some legal advice and I know Pete would never keep Mikeyway waiting!”  
“Of course!” Pete slapped Bob’s back, gave him a shiteating, besotted grin, “Looks like it’s gonna be put to Patrick and Ray to show you around. Seems I’m needed at the office,”

“Good luck,” Bob offered, but Pete just winked at him and left, Corktree trotting behind him.

“Well,” Ray shook his head, “They absolutely rot your teeth out, don’t they?” He teased.

“That, they do, friend.” Bob agreed, “Right outta’ the gum.”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda, assholes,” Patrick emerged from the back room, cheeks flushed from either work or Pete, and hair dusty, “Mornin’, Bob. Sleep well, I hope?”  
“Good morning,” Bob agreed, “Slept just dandy. How’s work?”  
“Great,” Patrick chirped, “Weapons is helping me clean out the back room. We’ve got medicine back there, could go for quite a bit in the city, Ray.”  
“Box it up,” Ray nodded, “I’ll send it off with the boys on their next weekend to town.”

“You got it,” Patrick gave him a thumbs up as a sandy pale dragon creeped out of the aisles. Bob sent it a wave and it flicked it’s tongue back welcomingly, tail twirling around fast a few times before seeming to find a comfortable position wrapped around its own hind leg.

“Weapons,” Ray came around the counter, stooped and rubbed at his dragon’s scales until the dust had disappeared and three small, interconnected circles were revealed on the space between it’s eyes, “What are you doing, girl?”

“Getting down and dirty,” Patrick teased, “Isn’t that right, Weapons?”

She made a tweeting noise and Parade made a similar one back, amused and a little...flirty?

Bob sighed and shook his head. If he hadn’t been mistaken, she’d been making that noise towards Corktree as well. Parade just gave him a smug look and flicked him with her tail. He wouldn’t say it to anyone, but even through the thick material of his jeans, it still stung like a bee sting. In retaliation, he pinched her ear.

Ray laughed again. He sounded like a happy man, content. This whole town seemed happy. He hadn’t met one uncontent person yet, outside of when they spoke on Pedicone or the younger Morrison. Maybe this place was drugged? The whole town? He wouldn’t put it past Wentz. Or Patrick, for that matter.

“Parade, right? Patrick’s told me all about you, sweetie.” Parade preened at Ray, because she never gave up a chance to show off, and let him rub her scales and horns. Her wings fluttered, pinned to her side by the saddle Pete had helped Bob properly fit onto her, then went still.

Ray didn’t even mention the straps and Bob could only assume that either he had more tact than the average person or small town politics had come into play again and Gabe or Bill had told the whole town about her wings.

“So what was Pete doing before he ran off to work?” Patrick started restacking the candies in the display on the counter, “Or did his plans start and end at S-and-T?”

“He was going to take me to the police station?” Bob shrugged, “It kind of got jumbled together. He explained a little of the situation to me, which helped. Apparently there’s something he wanted Officer Iero to tell me about, because it was his thing, or whatever.”  
Patrick thought about it and nodded, “That’s probably a good plan. Toro, are you good here if I take Bob to the jailhouse?”

“Sure,” Ray nodded, “I think Mister Morrison is down there about now,” he looked at his watch, “If you hurry, you could probably catch him.”  
“Great,” Patrick held out his hand, “I’ll take their box of cigarettes, if you want.”  
“That’d be great,” Ray disappeared behind the counter for a few seconds and popped back up soon after with a tin box Bob could only assume was full of cigarettes for the police station, “Thanks, Patrick.”  
Patrick waved him off and took Bob’s arm in his, sending him a blinding grin that had Bob reeling, “Come on, Bobert. Frank gets itchy if he doesn’t have his cigarettes.”  
Bob cracked a smile, feeling his throat constrict for just a few seconds, until that smile was facing away from him. He shot a glance at Ray, tried to see if he’d somehow noticed what Bob had tried to hide for years and years, but Ray looked none the wiser, giving them a cheerful wave as Patrick dragged him out of the door.

The walk wasn’t long but the dust they kicked up as they walked along the dirt road hazed the way for Bob. Parade sneezed, then did it again and then one last time and Patrick laughed, “Pick your feet up, Parade, otherwise, you’ll drag all the dust up.”

She sniffed at him and it made her cough until she made an annoyed, huffing noise and reared up. Bob stumbled under her weight when she rested her clawed feet against his shoulders and started walking on her back legs behind him, her head held high and out of the dust, but he and Patrick still laughed at her until she blew smoke rings at Patrick’s face so he was coughing too.  Smoke was the best she could do without coal to chew, a small flame if she concentrated, but it was more than a lot of other dragons could do and she was always proud of it.

He was amused, but kept his gait steady and his shoulders tensed so she wouldn’t stumble because of him. When the station came into view and the dust had mostly settled, she deigned to fall back to the ground on all fours and look at the new setting. It was built with aged wood, light and weather worn but strong still. Being in the heart of the town, Bob wasn’t surprised to see a small crowd coming and going.

“It’s the tax place,” Patrick explained, “And today is Thursday, so Brian’ll be collecting. That’s why Mister Morrison is here, I’m guessin’.”

“Let’s go meet this Morrison,” Bob straightened his hat and let Patrick fix his shirt and tie a bandana around his neck, ‘for the dust, next time.’ Bob didn’t even complain that it was pinker than Patrick’s cheeks when he heard a dirty joke. He’d had it wrapped around his own neck but obviously he felt that Bob needed it more. From the color, Bob could only assume that it was Pete’s.

Parade stood up a little straighter, nudged at Patrick until he playfully tied a matching one around her neck, pulling it from his pocket. It was smudged with dust from when he’d been cleaning out the back room of his store but she didn’t seem to mind all that much.

“Patrick!” A voice called out almost as soon as Patrick ducked into the doors of the station, similar to the doors from the bar but taller and thicker, much more sturdy.

“Dewees!” Patrick returned cheerfully, holding the door for Parade but playfully letting Bob catch it himself when he came in after his companion, “I brought you a felon finder and his companion.”  
“ _The_ felon finder!?” Another man jumped from behind the counter situated in the middle of the room, surprising Parade enough that she reared back just a little and hissed. The new man held up his hands with a friendly smile that made her relax and flick her tail at him in apology. Off to the either side of the desk were barred walls, separated into two empty cells per wall. To the left of the desk was a door, slightly ajar, but otherwise bare except for the thin metal plating coating it, possibly a precaution in case someone had locked themselves in there for safety. Along the desk were picture frames, paperwork and little knickknacks, things that made it seem a lot more warm than any of the other jailhouses Bob had been to before. The two men behind the desk, ‘U’ shaped with a lifting panel for them to slip out of to come out into the rest of the room, looked young but not new, like they’d been in their positions a long time and were comfortable but not bored. The first one, Dewees, was tall and sturdy with a warm, teasing smile, while his friend was much shorter with dark, cropped short hair and a smile of his own, all teeth and mischief. They looked like troublemakers, but the kind of troublemakers that Bob could come to like.

“Dewees, Frank, I want you to meet Bob. Bob, these are the infamous Northern Downpour Deputies.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bob offered his hand and, instead of using the panel, Frank vaulted over the desk and grabbed his hand, shaking it hard and firm, all energy and bouncing.

“Nice to meet you!” He agreed, releasing Bob’s hand when Dewees made it over so he could shake his hand as well, “Patrick’s told us a lot about you. You’re really from Chicago?”

“Yeah,” Bob nodded, “Patrick and I grew up together there. You from nearby?”  
“No,” Frank laughed, “I’m from New Jersey. I grew up everywhere, though.”  
“Frankie and I were in the traveling shows,” Dewees explained, “Before we settled in Downpour. We were stars, you know, before we let this dump tie us down.”  
“Yeah, right,” Patrick scoffed, “You dorks love it here.”  
“Oh, but how we miss the spotlight,” Frank fell into Dewees’ arms dramatically, “What we could have been had we not fallen into such despair,”  
“Oh, the humanity!” Dewees agreed, “Alas, stuck we are. Trapped here.”

“You can leave any time,” a dry voice interrupted  their tirade. Bob wasn’t sure if he should be relieved to escape the escalating show, because he didn’t doubt for a second that these two were in show bis, or disappointed because it had been amusing. Frank and Dewees straightened up but the clipped tone of before didn’t stop Dewees from wheeling around to regale the new pair of men with a loud wail.  
“Brian, you wound us! How could we ever leave you?”  
“Easily, if you miss the spotlight so much,” Brian shook his head, but he sounded just fond enough that Bob couldn’t help but smile, “Stop bothering our guest. Bob, was it?”  
“Yeah,” Bob nodded, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry tongue, “Bryar. You must be Brian.”  
“You’ve heard of me,” Brian offered his hand, dusty but warm and steady when Bob wrapped his hand with his own and shook once, “Bad things, I hope.”  
“The worst,” Bob tried to straight face, only for another smile to break out when Brian laughed, still in that dry tone.

“Then you’ll be under no illusions,” Brian stepped back and motioned to the tall, bald man next to him, “Mister Bryar, this is Mister Morrison, our mayor.”  
“Ah, Mister Bryar and Parade, I assume,” Morrison shook Bob’s hand as well before he offered his hand for Parade to press against in greeting. Bob was starting to feel like all he’d done since he’d come into the station was shake hands and introduce himself, “And Patrick! You look well.”

“I’m doing great,” Patrick agreed, “Now that I’ve got Bob back. Pete and I were lost without him. Don’t know how we managed to stumble into a place like this on our own.”  
“Luck and Pete’s sheer stubbornness.” Bob intoned, only to step a little to the side to avoid Patrick’s elbow, “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Morrison.”  
“Just Grant, please,” Grant smiled, “Patrick’s told me you could just be the answer to our prayers, Bob.”  
“About that,” Bob lifted his hat and rubbed at his hair, trying to ignore the slick of sweat against his gloves, “See,”

“Oh no,” Patrick frowned, “I know that voice. Bob, I thought,”  
“I just don’t like being _hired_ by you,” Bob explained, “I don’t mind a bit catching this guy for you, ‘trick, I’m just not too sure about taking money for it. I don’t like mixing business with pleasure, you know that.”  
“I insist,” Grant frowned, “I wouldn’t feel right taking your services for no fee, Bob.”  
“Look,” Bob shrugged, “You’re good people. It wouldn’t feel right taking your money when I’d do it for free, anyway. I’ve got money enough back in the city, I don’t mind doing this for you as a favor.”  
“Bob,” Patrick started, taking that tone he knew Bob had a hard time saying ‘no’ to, which was really unfair, in Bob’s opinion.

Bob was saved from the voice by a loud scream from down the street and the sudden shouts of “It’s Bandit Pedicone!” and “Pedicone's back!”

Bob knew he wasn’t the first to move but, being closest to the door, he was the first one back in the street.

Parade stayed close to him, her beak buried in the hot pink bandana but otherwise tall and alert.

“You said he was going for the bank?” He asked, not bothering to look at whoever had stopped next to him. There was a dust cloud in the distance. He could make out the figure in the middle, leading the charge into the town. Pedicone looked nothing like he’d imagined. Rural criminals had a different look to them, he supposed, and he was used to big men with handle ‘staches and a scars on their cheeks. This guy didn’t look very tough, not compared to Bob’s usual clientele. No way was he gonna charge for this small fry, it’d give bounty hunters’ everywhere a bad name.

“Yeah,” Patrick answered him, sounding a little scared. Bob had to remind himself that he and Patrick had grown up in the upper crust of the Chicago scene, where the worst that could happen was robbery. Patrick, unlike Bob, never really had contact with outlaws before this creep.

“Go get your bank locked down, then.” Bob rolled his shoulders, unclipped the holster of his revolver, “I’ll take care of this.”  
“Bob, you can’t go alone. He’s got a gang,” Patrick protested, “Don’t be stupid.”  
“Hey,” Bob glanced at him, smirking a little, “You brought me here for this, right? Trust me.”  
“We’ll go with you,” Frank offered, the teasing voice from before gone, “Brian and Patrick and Mister Morrison can go and secure the bank.”  
“Sure,” Bob gave in. He didn’t need backup, Pedicone’s gang looked barely four men thick, but he’d rather give in than fight. And if it made Patrick feel better until Bob could prove that he could take care of himself…

“Let’s go,” Brian finally said and Bob listened to the three of them leave, footsteps heavy and fast against the dirt road.

“Stay behind me,” Bob finally said, “Don’t say anything to his taunting. Don’t draw your guns unless I do. Don’t shoot, not unless he does first, got it?”  
“Yeah,” Dewees nodded, “Got it, Bryar.”

“Don’t shoot,” Frank agreed, sounding just a little begrudging.

Bob patted Parade’s shoulder, scratched at the scales under his fingernails, “You ready to fuck ‘em up, girl?”  
She made a noise, oddly reminiscent of the last time a target had gone rogue on Bob’s ass and she’d been set on him. Bob couldn’t help the smirk and he started walking towards the dust cloud. If he got this over with and was gone by the night, they wouldn’t be able to force the money on him anyway, and he’d be home in a week.

He heard the dynamic duo behind him but didn’t bother checking on them. They’d be there or they wouldn’t. From how they’d looked when the first alarms went up, they hadn’t looked all that intimidated and Bob knew that the show circuit wasn’t exactly an easy place to grow up, so he wasn’t worried. If anything, Frank almost seemed a little too eager.

Bob stopped a little before the entrance of the town. With the sun out and bright, he could see the sign he’d missed the night before. Tall, dark wood with a simple, carved sign reading ‘Northern Downpour’ on their side to mark the entrance of the town. He liked it, felt it fit the town somehow. Simple, but cheerful and unique.

When Pedicone was finally in view, close enough that Bob could see the whites of his eyes, he unclasped the saddle on Parade’s side and let it fall to the dust and settle. Immediately, her spikes unsheathed and she stretched, her wings twitching out just long enough to loosen them up. Her tail started to sway until she wrapped it tight around Bob’s leg. He placed a reassuring hand on her, between the two largest spikes, felt the blade-sharp edges. He didn’t need backup because he already had all he needed in his companion.

Pedicone stopped before he’d even reached the shadow of the sign, close enough to hear and speak, but not quite close enough for Parade to lunge for without going a little bit of a distance. His dragon was all dark greens and purples, a thick mask of desert sand tan against its eyes. It was tall, almost regal, dwarfing it’s rider without effort. Parade wasn’t intimidated and neither was Bob.

“And who might you be?” Pedicone asked, friendly enough.

“Someone interested in arrestin’ you,” Bob supplied, just as friendly, “What say you to comin’ in all quiet like?”  
“Sorry, friend,” Pedicone shook his head, “I’ve got me a lucrative business in this town. Can’t say I’m all that willin’ ta’ leave.”  
“Shame,” Bob shrugged, “Seems like your business partner’s not all that into your business if they’re callin’ me.”  
“And who might you be?” Pedicone repeated, sounding a little annoyed. Bob shrugged.

“Name’s Bryar.”  
“Bounty hunter Bryar?” Pedicone snapped, losing all semblance of friendliness. He looked ready for a fight. Bob was, too. It’d been a long time since he’d actually had to fight for his target.

“That’s the one,” Bob agreed. He’d have to do a better job of keeping his name out of the limelight, if they had heard of him all the way out here, “Still wanna play games, Pedicone?”

“We just want what’s owed to us,” Pedicone reasoned, “So why don’t you mosey on back to your Chicago, and we’ll stay cozy right here.”  
“How about back the fuck off this town before I make you,” Bob offered, hand finally settled on his left hand gun. A reminder to Pedicone that it wasn’t just his dragon that he had to worry about.

“Make me?” Pedicone laughed, “You’d have to catch me, first.”  
“The only reason you ain’t in cuffs,” Bob said slowly, wanting to make sure Pedicone understood, “Is because I don’t got none on me.”  
Parade stepped forward, her scales and claws gleaming in all their glory, only intensified by the smoke slowly rising from her nostrils and her flashing fangs. Bob dropped his hand from his gun to the small pocket on his belt. He gripped a piece from the pile inside and tossed it into Parade’s space, watched her catch the black, sooty rock in her mouth and chew loud and obvious.

Pedicone laughed nervously, his hands tightening on his dragon’s horns, “So what? Your dragon’s got some coal, it isn’t like she can actually breathe fire this far.”  
“Parade,” Bob crossed his arms, “Catch.”

And she was off, flames bursting from behind her fangs and out of her nose and the tips of her horns and tail, from around her spikes, until she was a nothing but black and white and flames, slithering at the bandits like a monster from hell, hissing and snapping until one of the other dragons reared up in fear and took off. With its retreat, it’s friends followed and Pedicone was soon without his gang. Parade hurled herself at him without reservation, digging her claws into Pedicone’s companion, snapping at its neck and shoulders as it pulled back. Pedicone’s weight was off balance in seconds and when Bob saw him go for his gun, his hands were pulling his own out automatically and aiming for Pedicone’s shoulder. Pedicone didn’t fall off his dragon though, seemed to be gaining back control every second and Bob knew he wouldn’t be bringing him in just yet. Not until he could knock him off his companion.  
“Parade, down!” He shouted and down she went, the flames going out as the coal was finally used up. He would have taken the shot but Pedicone was turning his companion and taking off without pause. Bob thought about trying, anyway, but from a distance like this he wouldn’t be able to ensure it wasn’t fatal and they’d sounded like they wanted him alive. He holstered his revolver and held his hand out for Parade when she trotted back over, looking pleased with herself.

“Wow,” Dewees said carefully, “I guess you didn’t need us.”  
“Parade is all I need in a showdown,” Bob agreed, “But thanks for coming anyway.”  
“You let him go,” Frank frowned, looking after the retreating dust cloud that was now Pedicone and his companion.

“You want him alive, right?” Bob looked at him, “You have to get him off the dragon if you want to take him in. Doesn’t matter how good I am, with his companion as a ride, he’ll escape every time. Best to wait until he’s let this guard down and take him then.”

“Yes,” Dewees nudged Frank, “We want him alive. Thank you, Bryar.”

“No problem,” Bob nodded, bending down to pick up the saddle and pat the dust from it, “We’d better go tell your mayor that his money’s safe for now.”  
“He’s not just worried about the money,” Frank protested, but he smiled so Bob felt like he was getting back to the person Bob had first met, now that the danger was over, “Greta and her boys were worried sick about Pedicone trying to rob them again. I had them convinced we had dynamite a few weeks ago but it didn’t take long for Pedicone to sniff my bluff out. I worked for him, after all.”  
“That’s real shitty,” Bob nodded, “It sucks when your boss turns out to be an asshole.”  
“Yeah, it does,” Dewees offered his hand to Parade and she allowed him to run his fingers down her back, spike and flame free now that Pedicone was gone, “But damn, she’s amazing. Where’d you learn to do that?”  
“It’s a trick we picked up. Fire in such small amount doesn’t really hurt dragons, but it can scare the fuck out of them. We figured, if she can take in air from those places, why can’t she blow fire through them, too? It took a lot of practice, but it’s a great scare tactic.”

“Wow,” Dewees blinked at Parade, who preened at him until he scratched at her horns, “Do you think you could teach our dragon how to do that?”  
“You have a dragon?” Bob used his bandana to wipe sweat from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Frank nodded, “She kind of shares us. Right now, she’s still at the station. Not much of a fighter, Sorrow.”

“She shares you two?” Bob questioned, interested. He’d heard of someone with two dragons, if they were twins of the same egg or if they’d been adopted into a pair, but he’d never heard of a dragon who had taken two companion humans.

“Yep,” Frank agreed, “She’s kind of possessive. We found her when we were in the traveling shows and she was part of our act. She and Dewees were the fire breather and his vicious dragon and I was the gunslinger sent to slay them.”

“Gunslinger?” Bob raised an eyebrow, “You’re good enough to perform?”  
“Was raised shootin’,” Frank said proudly, “I’ll have you know, I can shoot at one end of town and hit a can a’ soup on the other end.”  
“And it would only take a few tries,” Dewees teased, making Frank pull an affronted face.

Bob smiled, amused, and he listened to them bicker playfully as they made their way down the deserted street. Finally, the bank came into view and, with it, Patrick and Brian.

“What happened?” Patrick demanded as soon as he caught sight of them, “We were waiting for Pedicone to show but-”  
“Bob scared him off,” Frank enthused, “You should have seen him, Patrick. He didn’t even need us, he and Parade were amazing. Did you know she sets herself on fire? Because that was fucking awesome. She’s awesome. Definitely the felon finder we need.”  
“But you let him go,” Brian frowned, looking Bob over, “What kind of bounty hunter lets the bounty get away?”  
“The kind that hasn’t taken on the bounty,” Bob lifted a finger, “and the kind that knows you can’t catch someone who’s got a companion as their ride. Why don’t you try catching him if he’s so goddamn easy?”  
“Catching him isn’t my job,” Brian said slowly and Bob could finally see what the others had been tiptoeing about. Brian was kind of a bitch. “That would be in your description. That’s why we called you. So you could, you know, _catch_ him, before he does something else to fuck everything up.”

“Once again,” Bob started but Grant interrupted him, hurrying out of the bank on Dewees’ heels.

“You scared him away!” Grant laughed, shaking Bob’s hand again frantically, “That’s amazing!”

“He let him go,” Brian crossed his arms, “Frank scared him away and we aren’t celebrating that, what makes this so different?”  
“Don’t be prickly,” Grant admonished fondly, glancing at Brian, “Bob’s done a great thing. With new blood in the mix, Pedicone won’t be so eager to come throw his weight around town like before. Are you sure you won’t take the job, Bob?”

“Sorry,” Bob shook his head, “It just wouldn’t feel right. I’ll send someone down, if you want. I’ve got a few friends who wouldn’t mind dealing with that egomaniac.”  
“That settles it, then,” Grant smiled and Bob got a bad feeling, especially when he saw Dewees returning from the direction of the police station, looking out of breathe but amused with a small box in his hand.

“No!” Brian protested, “No way, Grant!”

“There’s no way around it, Brian,” Grant waved his hand, “Mister Bryar simply cannot be convinced to take the job. So as a reward for saving the town from the dastardly actions of that no good Pedicone, with the power invested in me by the people of Northern Downpour, I do declare that, until a new sheriff can be found and approved, Mister Bryar will take over as temporary sheriff.”  
“What,” Bob tried to say, but Grant was opening the box Dewees had run from the station and taking out a silver star. Bob tried to back away, but Patrick was behind him, holding him in place when Grant came forward and pinned the star into the material of the left breast of his shirt. He held carefully still so he wouldn’t be stuck with the needle, but it wasn’t compliance.

“I can’t,” He started at the same time as Brian began with, ”He can’t,”

They stopped and stared at each other, Bob’s eyes narrowing slowly when he noticed the triumphant gleam in Brian’s, “He can’t be sheriff! He’s not staying, Grant. He wants to go back to Chicago and send someone else to take care of Pedicone for us. Besides, he doesn’t know the first thing about being a sheriff, let alone of a whole town!”

And had it been any other person, Bob would have agreed wholeheartedly. He _didn’t_ know what it took to be a sheriff, he’d barely made it into the force before he’d kicked himself out. He _didn’t_ know what it took to be an responsible for, to, a whole town. He was a bounty hunter, not a _police officer_ , let alone _sheriff_ material. He didn’t always uphold the law like he should and he definitely didn’t go out of his way to enforce it with other people. No way was he qualified for this job, anyway, not even on a temporary basis.

Had it been any other person who said it, in any other tone of voice than that smug righteousness that Brian used, he would have unpinned the star and given it to Grant with an honored, but serious ‘no, thank you.’

But it _was_ Brian, and it _was_ that tone of voice, and that was exactly what made him look Mayor Grant Morrison in the face and say, “I’d be glad to take over for a few weeks, sir.”

Just to see the look of shock and anger on Brian’s face before he wiped his face clean of anything but disapproval.

Brian didn’t think he could do it? Fuck Brian. Bob could do anything, and what did it matter that he’d only known Brian for a little over half an hour? He wasn’t doing this to impress anyone. But he didn’t like being looked down on, especially not by someone he didn’t even know. Fuck Brian. He’d be the best damn sheriff this fucking Podunk town had ever seen.

-

“So, long story short,” Pete raised his glass and the room raised theirs' with him with cheers, “Meet Sheriff Bryar, guardian of Northern Downpour until the next sheriff can be picked out of the bad seeds of the city!”

There was laughter, in a ‘funny because it’s true’ kind of way, and Bob took a deep drink of the whisky in his glass. He was already regretting the decision to keep the silver star on his chest, could feel the weight of it slowly pulling him down. He hadn’t had a responsibility this big in his life. He’d never had to stick around anywhere that he didn’t want to. God damn that Brian, if he hadn’t been such a dick about it, Bob never would have opened his fucking mouth.

“Don’t worry, Bryar,” Frank slapped his shoulder, “We’ll watch your back. You’ll love it, here. It’s great.”  
“I know,” Bob nodded, taking another drink as Frank wondered off with Mikey. Northern Downpour was great. The people were all nice, almost _too_ nice, and everything was so...so happy and content. The only trouble he could see was Pedicone. It was an ideal little town surrounded by desert and farms and dragon ranch. He’d never been good outside of the inner city, without the dank alleys and the seedy corners. Bob was a seedy corner kind of guy, not a fucking small town sheriff.

God damn that Brian.

“You can still back out,”

Speaking of Brian.

Bob looked up from his whisky, or what was left of it, and took Brian in, the way he was swirling whatever he was drinking in his tumbler, watching the sweet gold of the liquid follow the circular pattern, “You can still give it back. No harm, no foul.”  
“Fuck you,” Bob said calmly and finished off his drink, “I’m going to be the best motherfucking sheriff you’ve ever seen.”

“No, you won’t,” Brian snorted, “You look ready to bolt at the thought of sticking around here long enough to be anything but a visiting drifter.”  
“So I don’t like being tied down,” Bob shrugged, “Doesn’t change the fact that I made a commitment. I’m gonna stick it out, like it or not.”

“We’ll see,” Brian scoffed. Bob didn’t watch him go but any thoughts he’d had about running away that had been in his head before were gone now.

Pete’s party, thrown in Bob’s honor apparently, wasn’t exactly the rager Bob was used to Pete throwing, but it was...fun, had Bob been in the mood to socialize. There weren’t as many people as the night before, but everyone was obviously friendly with everyone else, first names and personal questions about work or families or dragons. Parade had been with the other dragons for a while but, when Bob had come to the bar, she’d joined him, curling around his chair like he was a hoard she was protecting until her head was resting comfortably on his shoulder and her front legs were crossed on his lap. He ran his fingers down her right wing and felt how it twitched under the stimulus, warm and scaled and reminding him that he was out of his comfort zone but he’d never been alone for a second.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He mumbled into her cheek, laughing when smoke tickled his ear and neck, “You can go hang out with the other dragons, don’t stay on my account.”  
She made an amused noise but didn’t move an inch.

When he was done sulking into his empty glass, he eventually convinced her to move her heavy ass and he was able to stand up. As soon as he looked approachable, Patrick swept in and grabbed his hand, “Bob, I want to introduce you to everyone.”  
“Didn’t you do that last night?” Bob smiled a little, letting Patrick drag him towards the front of the room.

“Please, they were too drunk and you wouldn’t remember them if I signed their names on their foreheads.” Patrick teased, stopping them in front of a small crowd of people, “Besides, not everyone was here last night.”

“By all means,” Bob signed, but they both knew it was too fond for Bob’s own good.

Pete was the first to notice and greet them, clasping Bob’s other hand warmly and slapping his shoulder, “Bobert! You’ve broken away from your dragon.”

Parade made a hissing noise at him but she wasn’t serious about it and Pete knew that, which was why he slipped her a treat from his pocket.

“She’s amazing,” A stranger smiled at him, all blood red lips and sharp, entrancing features. Her hair was black, tugged into messy ponytails and dark against her pale, pale skin.

“Thanks,” Bob nodded, “She’s too good for me.”

“Lindsey Ballato,” The stranger offered her hand and they shook, her grip light but deceptively so.

“Bob Bryar,” Bob tilted his hat at her, “Nice to meet you.”  
“Likewise,” She smiled and it was dangerous, but welcoming, “These are my co-workers and friends, Kitty, Steve, and James.”  
“Jimmy, please,” Jimmy leaned forward and kissed Bob on either cheek before he could reel back at the sudden closeness, “I can’t tell you how glad we are to finally have someone worth their salt with that star on their vest. Well, shirt in your case. Don’t worry, man, we’ll fix you up with a whole new wardrobe.”  
“Jimmy, you work in the post office,” Pete laughed, “Where are you gonna get a whole new wardrobe?”  
“Here and there,” Steve sniffed, shaking Bob’s hand harder than anyone else had, obviously without even meaning to. Steve looked like a powerhouse, and one Bob didn’t wanna get into it with. He looked too nice to fight though, so Bob wasn’t too worried. Kitty laughed, her hair in four pigtails like she was trying to outdo Lindsey’s or was just having a little too much fun, but it made Bob smile either way. He liked these four, the oddball energy they gave off. It was different from the other people around, not in a bad way, just...more like what Bob was used to. They seemed happy, but not content to just be like the others. Bob wasn’t sure if he wanted to be more like them or like the other townspeople, who all seemed to know what they wanted and where they fit. He’d never really had that. Maybe he wanted a little of both worlds.

“These guys work the post office at the end of the road,” Patrick explained, looking them over in amusement, “I see you dressed up for the occasion.”  
Bob hadn’t wanted to mention it because he’d seen a lot weirder in the Chicago underbelly, but Jimmy’s dress matched Kitty’s suit jacket and Steve’s skirt was the same shade as Lindsey’s suit vest and pants.

“Just wanted to air the old get up out, you know,” Kitty straightened her jacket, looking herself over with a pleased expression, “What do you think, Mister Bryar?”  
“Just Bob’s fine,” Bob cleared his throat, unable to stop another smile from stealing across his lips, “You all are well fit. You have a great tailor in town, I assume.”  
“Mikeyway,” Steve nodded, “He runs the clothing store above us, actually.”  
“A clothing store atop the post office?”  
“We like to go upwards instead of outwards,” Kitty broke in, smiling at him sweetly.

“And I couldn’t afford to open my own building,” Mikey broke in, giving Bob a stare he thought was supposed to be friendly.

“Please, you’re the only clothing store we go to. Electric Attire is top of the class,” Patrick waved a hand at him and Mikey laughed, soft but genuine.

“I’m the only clothing store in town, Patrick. Of course I’d be top of the class if I was the only one _in_ class.” Mikey drawled, but he still accepted Pete’s drink when he offered, “Have you met Tyler and Josh yet, Bob?”

“Probably,” Bob shook his head, “I’m sure I’ve met everyone in town, it’s remembering that’s the problem. Too many names, too fast.”

Mikey agreed, nodding, “I remember when I first came to town, that was a problem for me, as well. If it hadn’t been for Brian, Frank, and Dewees, I have no clue what I would have done.”

“You’ve been here awhile, then?” Bob asked, trying for friendly. He was slowly getting tired and the whisky was working its way through his system, making him feel warm and fuzzy. He’d had maybe a few more than that last glass and Parade was starting to feel like the perfect place to sleep on.

“Yeah,” Mikey took a deep drink from Pete’s bottle, “Shit, quite a while, now. It’s my home. It might not seem much, but…”  
“It’s great,” Bob echoed, nodding again, “I’ve heard.”

Mikey glanced over at Patrick, leaning against Pete nearby, laughing with the post office workers and a few people familiar from last night, “Yeah, it grows on you.”

“We’ll see,” Bob leaned more fully into Parade and scratched at her horns until she was tilting her head into his fingers and making pleased noises in the back of her throat. “I think it’s about time I headed out. Got a big day ahead of me, I guess.”

“Frank and Dewees are gonna show you the rounds,” Mikey nodded, “They were talking about it. You’re gonna want all the sleep you can get, to deal with those two.”  
“Don’t I know it,” Bob bit back a laugh, giving Mikey an amused look. His eyes strayed over his shoulder, though, when he noticed Brian on the other side of the room, sharing drinks with what looked to be a rag-tag group of Holymen. That fuzziness disappeared and Bob blinked, straightening up. Just what he’d need, for Brian to see him boozing it up on his dragon and take that as another sign that Bob was inept at this fucking job.

“Sheriff’s got an apartment, above the station.” Mikey said, drawing Bob’s attention back to him, “It hasn’t been used in a real long time though. If you’re gonna be here awhile, you probably wanna move outta’ Pete and Patrick’s spare room and into your own space. Frank and I can clean it out for you, tomorrow.”  
“Thanks,” Bob agreed. Usually, he’d have turned the offer down, but if he was gonna be here for a few weeks, until the new sheriff could be picked out of the city police and sent on over, he did want a little of his own space. And Parade had never been good at sharing, “That would be great.”  
“Cool,” Mikey nodded, “And, uh,” He glanced over his shoulder before looking back at Bob, “Don’t take anything Brian says too seriously, okay? He’s kind of gun shy what with all the shitty sheriffs we’ve had to deal with. He’ll warm up to you.”  
“Yeah,” Bob nodded, just because, much like with just how great Northern Downpour was, he didn’t want to argue, “He won’t chase me off, no worries.”  
“Good,” Mikey smiled, and it was a little strange, small and mysterious like he was hiding something, “Because I think you’d be good for us. Downpour...we can get a little wrapped up in ourselves, since we’re all alone out here. It’s gonna be nice, to have new blood in the mix. Some people in town, they need someone with a good head on their shoulders on their side. See you, Bob.”  
“Yeah,” Bob nodded again and watched Mikey walk off, feeling a little thrown. He didn’t need to drag Pete or Patrick from the party, just waved goodbye to everyone and made his way to their little house, let himself in with Pete’s key, and shucked his clothes so he could fall face first into the mattress of the guest room and pass out. Parade settled on top of him, but he was too tired to even try pushing her off.

-

Bob had been in ‘office’ for three days and he was discovering that being the sheriff of a small town kind of sucked. His days had come to consist of being called in to handle petty disputes - like when the local drifter tried to cheat the staff at Twenty One Plates out of his bill - or when he was called upon to do manual labor, such as when a dragon from the ranch had escaped into the township and Bob had been forced to climb into the only fucking tree in a two mile radius and drag the poor dumbfuck out of it because it hadn’t learned to fly yet. Frank had shown him around while Dewees had manned the front desk and Brian had finished up collecting taxes from the day before, and explained the ins and outs to him, but he hadn’t bothered to cover just what he was supposed to do when Miss Williams came barging into the otherwise empty station demanding that he come help her corral the rowdy students into the classroom before she ripped her hair out or when one of the nurses from the medical practice down the street came in with a prescription for some type of medicine for Frank with Doctor Hurley’s signature scribbled on the bottom. It helped even less when Brian would appear out of nowhere, gone when Bob was actually getting something right, but never far when he was trying to keep calm and explain that yes, you had to pay your bill, or when he was falling ass-first onto the dirt out of a fucking tree, or when he was used as a new piece of playground equipment by Miss Williams’ class, with that fucking smirk on his face like he knew Bob was thinking about running more and more every second.

“You’ll get used to it,” Pete had offered when he’d noticed the look on Bob’s face his second day. Bob had just grunted into his whisky and Patrick had rubbed his shoulder in comfort.

At least the accommodations weren’t too bad. Above the station was a small but cozy apartment. It only had the essentials: a small kitchen with a coal stove and a connecting living room; a bedroom big enough for a double mattress, a nightstand and a bed for a dragon; and a bathroom connected from both the bedroom and the living room, but it was perfect for he and Parade. He half wished his apartment back in Chicago was as homey, with hardly any structural problems or dead rats in the walls, right above his place of employment. He’d told Grant to cut his checks without his fluff money, not wanting to dip his fingers into that pie with two layers of leather covering him, and it wouldn’t be a lot at the end of each week, but it would be enough to be comfortable while he was there. Parade liked it in the apartment because, unlike in Chicago, the living room area was large enough for her to stretch her wings out all the way to stretch them. Bob had taken to massaging the appendages when she did it because it put her to sleep faster than he’d ever seen before.

“Bob?”

Bob blinked, looking up from the paperwork he’d been halfheartedly filling out to meet Dewees’ eyes, “Yeah?”  
“Frankie and I just got a telegram from Mikey, seems there’s a letter for Frank or something. Think you’re good to be by yourself?”  
“If Miss Williams comes back, I’m sending her your way,” Bob agreed, settling his pen down to stretch out. He’d been hunched over this desk since he’d come in.

“Sure,” Frank laughed, “See you in like half an hour. Brian’s in the back, call if you need anything.”  
“Got it.” Bob nodded, settling back into his uncomfortably hard chair to watch the front desk instead of paperwork. Sorrow, who Bob had met the night of the celebration, pressed in between them as they turned to walk out. Sorrow was a strange looking dragon, probably one of the most colorful, timid little things Bob had ever met. She was light blue along her back, almost pink-red on her underbelly and neck, with what looked almost to be a skull on her head instead of scales. Underneath her eyes was the richest red Bob had ever seen, trickling from her sockets like blood tears. Along her back were marks, in that same bloody red, leaving thick spots and trickling patterns. Her wings were black, abnormally large for her small size, and speckled with red splatters. Sorrow looked almost like a stab victim, but it fit _her,_ somehow. Parade had taken a liking to her almost immediately and, truthfully, so had Bob. She was timid, almost sad, but when Frank or Dewees came into view, she lit up like a Christmas tree.

When they’d disappeared out of the door and it was just Bob and Parade, he went back to his paperwork, hoping to finish the last stack of the day so he wouldn’t have to do it tonight. He was familiar with the work, from the many nights the police station in Chicago had expected him to sit and work through every senior officer’s workload so they wouldn’t have to, but he couldn’t say he had missed it.

He was just crossing the last of the ‘T’s and dotting the final ‘I’s when the bell above the door tolled and he looked up. At first, he thought it was Grant and something terrible had happened to make him look so angry, but he dismissed that thought immediately. This wasn’t Grant, he was just a little shorter than Bob remembered, paler, with darker, angrier eyes sunken into his face. This must be Korse.

“You’re Robert Bryar, I presume?” Korse Morrison said politely enough, taking his business man hat off to hang on the hat stand by the door. He was dressed up in a suit, like Pete when he was off to work. Korse didn’t look like a city slicker though. He looked Wild West, through and through, from his somehow perfectly clean dress shoes, to his pressed black suit, to his severe tie and collar. There was no handlebar mustache, but Bob was prepared for a showdown, anyway.

“Bob,” Bob responded, standing up, “Can I help you, Mister Morrison?”  
Korse didn’t look surprised, but Bob knew he’d caught him off guard. He wasn’t intimidated by Korse, but he could see how others might have been.

“My brother has told me you’re the new sheriff in town.”  
“Temporary, sir,” Bob nodded, “But sheriff ‘til the city brings in a new one.”

“He’s told me you’ve refused his...promotion in salary,” Korse went on, like Bob hadn’t spoken. Bob held in a sigh.

“I’m a lawman, sir, and I’ll take the salary like it is. Ain’t willin’ ta’ be in any man’s pockets, not even good people like Grant.”  
“Is that so.” Korse clipped, looking at Bob shrewdly. He lifted his suitcase and placed it on the desk, rolled the numbers into the safety lock and waited for the instant click of the lock disengaging so he could open it. He turned it to Bob and watched his face for his reaction. Bob tried not to give anything away. Stacked almost to bursting, in neat piles wrapped with string to keep them that way, were dollar bills. There were too many to count, different amounts for each stack, he’d guess. It was a lot of money though. More than Bob had ever seen in one place before, and he’d been on teams thwarting drug busts and taking out Kingpins in the city.

“What is this?” He finally asked, not quite sure what Korse was doing.

“I have a problem. His name is Party Poison. You’ve seen the wanted posters.”

And yeah, Bob had. They were up on every building and on three of the walls in the police station. It was an artist’s rendition, probably because they couldn’t get the real outlaw to hold still long enough for a decent photograph, of a man with a mask over most of his face. The mask would have been enough to catch Bob’s attention, eye catching yellow and big blue dots, but what drew his attention to the posters, in the end, was the neon red hair, swept to one side. The artist, whoever it was, had gone into painstaking detail, and this Party Poison, at least through their eyes, looked dangerous. Dangerous, but not the kind of dangerous Korse seemed to be.

“I have.” Bob agreed carefully, making sure that having seen the wanted posters was the only thing he was agreeing to, “What’s he got to do with all that green?”  
“Every man’s got his price, Mister Bryar,” Korse explained, “And my brother’s just wasn’t enough to meet yours. This should be. I want Party Poison dead, do you understand? He’s an outlaw, it’s your job to capture him. If he happens to attack and you happen to shoot for your life, who’s to question you? You’re the sheriff.”

Bob straightened, “Mister Morrison,” He said stiffly, “Are you trying to hire me to assassinate someone?”  
“I’m hiring you to do your job,” Korse nearly sneered, “Party Poison is a threat to my ranch and-”  
“I’m not in charge of your ranch’s security,” Bob interrupted, “I’m in charge of the security of Northern Downpour. If Party Poison poses a threat to my town, then I will gladly to what I can to _bring him in_ and _lock him up_ for his crimes,” he emphasized. “I don’t know if this is what happened with the other sheriffs’, but I’m not in the business of being _bought_ , Mister Morrison.”

Korse narrowed his eyes at Bob, “Don’t do something you’re regret, Mister Bryar. This is a lot of money, for a very small favor.”  
“Trust me,” Bob bared his teeth in a smile, “I won’t regret this. Have a nice day, Mister Morrison.”

Korse shut his briefcase with a loud, resounding snap. When he left, hat and case in hand, the room seemed to get brighter, somehow.

Bob fell into his seat and snapped his teeth, cracking his jaw to work through the sudden aggression. Korse was the kind of slime he was used to bringing in, not letting walk right out the door.

Parade blew smoke at the door, much to Bob’s amusement, and after a few minutes of deep breathing and working a pen through his fingers, Bob was calm again.

“What a dick,” He finally said out loud, looking at Parade. She grunted in agreement and blew smoke rings out of her horns.

“You handled him well,” Brian said from the door, surprising Bob. Bob stood and turned, getting Brian in his sights. He didn’t look impressed but his voice had sounded it.

“Thanks.” Bob finally settled on, not quite sure how to respond, “Does he do that to every sheriff that comes through these parts?”  
“Yeah,” Brian nodded, lighting the cigarette in his hands, “And you’re the first since Pelissier to say no.”

“How long as Party Poison been around?” Bob frowned, looking at the wanted poster again. Sure, the mask covered most of his face, but he looked young, around Bob’s age, maybe.

“‘couple years,” Brian shrugged, “But before him, it was some other guy who was in Korse’s way, and before him, it was someone else. People like Korse, when they do bad shit, they don’t like when people oppose them.”  
“Tell me about this guy, then,” Bob worked up the nerve to ask, “What’s Party Poison done that’s so opposing to Korse Morrison?”

“Ask Frank,” Brian grinned, and that stupid smile made Bob’s stomach twist because he’d been part of what had put it there. Shit. “He’s always telling anyone who’ll listen, so he won’t mind if you ask.”  
“I’ll do that,” Bob nodded, twisting the pen between his fingers again. He had the worst timing in the world, and he had the worst luck with men, and everything fucking sucked.

“Maybe you won’t be so bad,” Brian said, bringing Bob’s attention back to the conversation, “I mean, I still don’t think you’ll stick it out. But at least you aren’t a corrupt son of a bitch.”  
“Not a corrupt one, no,” Bob smirked at him, “Don’t worry, Schechter. I’ll stick it out, just to spite you.”  
“Whatever, Bryar,” Brian scoffed, but when he went back into the back room, cigarette still unsmoked and smoldering in his fingers, Bob could have sworn there was a smile fighting onto his lips. Not that Bob had been looking.

When Frank and Dewees returned, Frank looked ready to float away, a paper folded carefully in his fingers and a look familiar to Bob from watching Pete and Patrick on his face.

“Letter from the sweetheart?” Bob raised an eyebrow, grinning at the way Frank’s face went pink.

“No!” Frank protested, but his voice went high and Bob couldn’t help but laugh.

“You look like how Pete and Patrick looked when they were dating.” How they still look, now.

“Hey!” Frank flushed, pink to red, “Those two are pure sugar, man. I’m fucking hardcore. I don’t do sugar.”  
“You are a sugarplum.” Dewees teased, “Especially when it comes to this guy.”  
“Shut up!” Frank stuffed the letter into his pocket, carefully, and crossed his arms, “I am not.”  
Bob waved his hand, because he had actual business to attend to.

“Korse Morrison stopped by.”  
Their smiles dropped and they suddenly looked nervous, Sorrow poking her head in from the front before scuttling inside and wrapping herself around Frank.

“What did he want?” Dewees asked, sitting down in the chair meant for people waiting to talk to Brian.

“He tried to hire me to kill Party Poison,” Bob sighed, “I told him to fuck himself, but I don’t think he’s quite done trying to convince me.”  
“That asshole,” Frank muttered, fingers clenching convulsively, like he wanted to go for his gun. Bob had made him prove his claim the day before and he now knew just how accurate Frank could be with that thing. If Korse showed up again, Bob wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop Frank, with that look on his face.

“I’ve asked about him before,” Bob shook his head, “But everyone tells me to ask you. So Iero, tell me about the infamous Party Poison.”  
“Oh great,” Dewees groaned, “Now he’ll never shut up.”  
“You shut up,” Frank sniffed, relaxing. The same look from before washed over his face and Bob got a bad feeling about this, “Party Poison is a fucking hero, you uncultured fuckhead.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dewees rolled his wrist at him, “Just tell the story, short stack.”  
Frank tossed him the bird, but he pushed Bob back into his chair and struck a pose.

“Years ago, the wilds around this here town were shit. With the sheriff out of commission due to fuckery and laziness, the good people of Northern Downpour were being held up and mugged at every turn. Filled with bandits and outlaws, not even the Morrison ranch was safe. Dragons went missing almost every night, whole broods at a time would just disappear! And then, one shining night about seven years ago, a man appeared. He and his gang of do-gooders cleaned up the streets, if you want to call the deserts outside Downpour ‘the streets’, and made it safe for everyone to live here again. Nearly every day, some new bandit would be tied all up in front of the jailhouse, waiting for the useless sheriff to lock ‘em up and sail ‘em off to the city with Brian for a trial. And eventually, the man uncovered a secret.”  
“Frank,” Dewees warned, and Frank sighed.

“Okay, he uncovered a _supposed_ secret,” Frank rolled his eyes, “That, _supposedly_ , Korse Morrison was, _supposedly_ , dealing black market shit with dragons from the ranch and, _supposedly_ , the man revealed his dealings to his brother, and now, _supposedly_ , Grant is kicking that piece of shit to the curb. _Supposedly_.”

“Supposedly,” Bob echoed, amused.

Frank smirked at him, “Anyway. Now, Korse tried to hire every new sheriff that comes into office to take Party Poison out so he can’t give Grant any more dirt on his shitty brother. _Supposedly_ , Poison’s got a bunch of evidence saved up against him and he’s just waiting for the right time to give it to Grant. So if Poison goes out,”  
“The evidence never gets to Grant, he can’t kick Korse out of the family business.” Bob finished, nodding, “I get it, now.”

“Yeah,” Frank flopped into Dewees’ lap, knowing Dewees would catch him before he slid to the floor, “And he’s hired some goons, so now Poison can’t get into town. He always helps around this time of year since the runs are ending soon. We’re gonna be filled with shitty cowboys and assholes looking for a good time and there are only four of us. Poison’s got a gang and between them and us, we’re usually safe. Most of ‘em are too big and burly to lock up.”  
“Let me worry about that,” Bob shook his head, “It’s my job now, right? In the meantime, I’ve got one more question about Party Poison.”  
“Yeah?” Frank looked at him from the fainting position he’d taken up across Dewees’ lap.

“Just how long have you two been at it?”

Dewees started laughing, too hard to stop Frank from falling onto the ground when Frank started spluttering, his face going bright red between one second and the next, Bob couldn’t help but join him.

“W-We aren’t!” Frank waved his hands, “I just! He’s a good - a good guy, you know, and I respect him a lot, and-”  
“And you look like a lovesick puppy when you talk about him,” Dewees smirked at him, “You can’t keep it a secret.”  
“Shut up!” Frank slapped at him, “There’s nothing to keep secret!”  
“Frank,” Bob smiled, couldn’t help it. He liked Frank, he liked Dewees, and even Brian. He liked all of the people he’d met so far, minus Korse, of course. “I’m not going to arrest your boyfriend. I was just curious.”  
Frank peered at him critically, sizing him up, before deflating, “How’d you know?”

“I told you,” Bob shrugged, “You look like Patrick looked when he talked about Pete.”

“Gross,” Frank covered his face, “I’m on the same sap level as Pete and Patrick.”

Dewees smirked, nudging Frank with his toe, “He and the outlaw have been tiptoeing around each other almost as soon as Poison showed up.”

“It’s long distance,” Frank muttered, “You don’t have to worry about me like...warning him away from town while you’re here or whatever, we only talk through letters lately, since Korse is upping his game to catch him. Half the time, he doesn’t respond so I dunno,”

“Sounds shitty,” Bob offered when Parade slithered into Frank’s lap and collapsed onto him, completely covering his small body with her own. Frank made a loud, huffing sound and tapped the floor weakly until she lifted herself and he took a deep breathe, much too dramatically for Bob’s taste. His companion was not that much bigger than Frank.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” Frank shrugged, already looking distracted with scratching at Parade’s shoulder until she was nearly purring in his lap. “I just thought you’d want to know, you know, about him.”  
Bob let the subject drop after that, went back to his paperwork pile and the map of the surrounding area he’d been studying. He wasn’t going to take the job himself, but he didn’t see why he couldn’t give the sheriff that showed up a little head start tracking Pedicone down.

The three of them set in quiet, Bob amusing himself with the map while Frank and Dewees went about their actual jobs. Being so new, they didn’t quite trust him with any of the important paperwork, which meant less work for him when he wasn’t chasing dragons up trees or lassoing children for Miss Williams. But, while Bob did enjoy that perk of the gig, not having any paperwork to do automatically volunteered him for the job when the telegraph for Brian came whirl pooling into the station in the hand of one Miss Kitty-from-Post, demanding Brian and an officer make their way post-haste to the Morrison Mansion to inspect the latest robbery.

“You don’t look to busy, Bryar.” Brian looked him over, “You’ll do. Come with me, time to stretch your sheriff legs out for real.”

“Are you sure?” Bob hedged, not sure if he wanted to go into Korse’s territory only a few hours after humiliating him.

“Positive. Grant will want to see how you’re really working out, anyway.”

Bob frowned at him, standing up and straightening his vest out, sent from Electric Attire as a welcoming present two days ago. It was black, because Bob had accidentally made the impression that all he wore was black, and Pete had stopped by to lay out his outfits for the week so that he ‘wouldn’t embarrass the shit out of Patrick and me.’ Somehow, he’d managed to make every outfit match the vest, just so Bob would wear it every day. It did make the star stand out, though, and Bob was secretly a little proud that he’d managed to hold down the job for so long. He’d tried getting steady jobs after quitting the force but it had never gone well for him, authority and being talked down to rubbing him the wrong way too fast, too soon. It was nice being welcomed, even celebrated, just for protecting the town for a few weeks.

“Fine, but I can’t promise I’ll control myself if Korse is there.”  
“Not even I would ask that of someone,” Brian smiled, just as desert dry as usual, but it made Bob’s heart beat just a few beats faster. Bob ignored that, though, because he wasn’t a teenager anymore and this wasn’t Patrick. This was Brian, and this was a job and a town a week’s train ride from his home. This wouldn’t work out, even if he wanted to pursue anything, so he just took his hat when Brian offered it to him, checked his guns and nodded at Parade.

“Stay here, sweetheart. If Pedicone comes back, no more games.”  
She looked hesitant, because they didn’t split up often and it made both of them nervous to be doing it now, with a fuck like Pedicone running around. But he couldn’t leave the town unprotected while he and Brian were both away, and he didn’t want to leave Frank and James to fend for everyone, either. She laid back down, curled up around a sleeping Sorrow, and watched him until he was out of view.

Bob didn’t say anything once they’d left the relative safety of the station. There was an automobile waiting at the entrance of the town and, when Brian started walking towards it with no hesitation, Bob followed diligently. While it seemed like he was top of command, as the head lawman around here, he wasn’t and Brian was. Brian was in charge and he radiated it, confident and stony but respected and liked by the town, and he knew it. But he also knew that he would never be able to order Bob around, not in the workplace and not outside of it, and he hadn’t bothered to even try. And that was what made it easy for Bob to defer to him in a situation like this, where Bob had no clue what the protocol was and Brian so obviously did. They climbed into the back of the car, roofless and sleek black, and the second the door was closed after Bob’s hesitant steps, the driver was pulling away and heading towards the mansion, farther away than Bob was really comfortable going so soon after Pedicone's attack.

“So what should I expect?” He turned, keeping his voice low so only Brian could hear him.

“A robbery,” Brian tapped the folded message in his hand, “It seems there’s been another assault on the nursery. Almost identical to the one that had Pedicone in such a snit.”  
“And he blames Party Poison,” Bob guessed, thinking back to those suppositions Frank had made abundantly clear were suppositions in name only.

“Yeah,” Brian nodded, putting the note in the pocket of his dress pants. His suit, unlike Korse’s, was sandy and creased from the workday, dark brown against a deep purple shirt. From the collar at his throat, peeking out from the plum of the cloth, were thick black marks - the beginnings of tattoos.

Bob turned his head and stared at the back of the driver’s head so he wouldn’t stare.

They set in silence for the rest of the ride. When the sand of the desert turned, first, into rock, and then lush green grass, Bob set up from his slump to look around. The mansion was large, but Bob had seen larger, Pete’s family home for instance, and he wasn’t that impressed at all the white marble and high class landscaping. The car came to a tumbling halt at the closest point of the drive, a giant ‘U’ shape that went right to the white, stone steps of the house, and Brian made his way out with Bob close behind him. Bob wasn’t sure what to expect, but Brian seemed relaxed so he tried to copy his statue, releasing the tension in his shoulders and smoothing out the confusion on his face.

When Brian knocked on the door, it seemed to echo for a long time. There was the sound of steps inside and the rich wood of the door disappeared to reveal a man in a black suit, similar to the butlers Bob was familiar with from his childhood.

“Mister Schechter and friend,”

“Bryar,” Brian introduced, “Sheriff Bryar, this is the Morrison Head of Staff, Alex.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Bob said politely, offering his hand. Alex shook it, gave him a polite smile in return - though something in his eyes made the way he looked Bob over not quite polite.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Alex practically purred, holding onto Bob’s hand a little longer than strictly necessary. Bob wasn’t quite sure how to handle that, so he stood stock still until his hand was released and when Alex turned around with a “The sirs are this way,”, he shot Brian a surprised look.

Brian rolled his eyes at him, looking annoyed, and followed after Alex with a particular look on his face. Bob followed after them, feeling a little thrown.

“Through here,” Alex pointed once he’d led them through a few twists and turns, “They’ve settled into the sitting room to wait for you.”

Bob moved to pass him, wanting to get in and out of the mansion as fast as possible, but Alex stopped him with a hand on his arm, light but present.

“If you’d like, I can, um, show you to the scene of the crime, Sheriff.”

“He’s to talk to Grant first,” Brian said sharply, with a little more force that Bob felt was warranted.

“Yeah, of course,” Alex took his hand away and smirked, first at Brian, and then at Bob, “Just call if you need anything.”  
“We won’t.” Brian turned away, back towards the door Korse and Grant must have been behind.

When Alex disappeared down the hall, Bob frowned at him, “Wasn’t that a bit harsh?”

“If you’d rather flirt with the butler than do your job, be my guest.” Brian frowned back, still looking annoyed.

Bob rolled his eyes and shoved past him, “Careful, Schechter. You sound like you’re jealous.”

Before Brian could say anything stinging back, Bob knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.

Seeing them together, Grant and Korse, was only shocking in how unalike two identical twins could look. It was like seeing someone, sitting next to their evil alter ego. The way Korse just radiated aggression, towards Grant, towards Bob, towards Brian when he walked into the room behind Bob, the way he stared at Bob like he was an annoyance Korse was just waiting to stop out, it all collaborated to create an atmosphere Bob had no desire to be a part of. Give him a scummy, city bar over this pristine, well decorated room any day if it meant he could avoid Korse Morrison.

Grant, on the other hand, looked fucking serene. Like he wasn’t sitting next to the man who had asked Bob to accept a bribe to murder a man just a few hours earlier. When he saw them, he smiled and stood, smooth and welcoming.

“Brian, Bob,” He opened his arms, gesturing, “Welcome to my home.”  
“Nice to be here, Grant.” Brian nodded, holding up the note, “Though, not under these circumstances.”  
“Yes,” Korse nearly hissed, standing himself. He was _fuming_ , and Bob could see the smoke trying to escape through his ears, “The circumstances surrounding the thievery of our nursery, once again perpetrated by the outlaw, Party Poison.”

“We’ll see.” Bob shrugged, “Why don’t you take us to the scene, Mr. Morrison?”

“Gladly,” Grant smiled, before Korse could spit something back at Bob. That was twice in the last five minutes that he’d escaped a tongue lashing. Here was to hoping he could escape the rest.

Brian stepped aside, let Grant and Korse ahead of them, but caught Bob’s arm before he could follow.

“Whatever you do, stay out of Korse’s way. Saying no to his bribe was one thing, and it was a brave thing to do, but purposefully antagonizing him is just stupid. He’s a powerful man, Bryar. A powerful man that has been a bane on Northern Downpour since he came of age, and it’ll do no one any good to fuck with him.”  
“Like Party Poison is.” Bob looked at Brian, saw the fear hidden behind the stubbornness and the worry for his town.

“Like Party Poison. He’s an outlaw, Bob. Do you get that? The only reason he can get away with shit like this is because he’s a no-name, no-life man who can’t even see his fucking fiancé because if he’s caught in town, there’s nothing anyone can do about his being tried and executed for his crimes against Korse.”

“So, what? I chase after an innocent man, who's done nothing more than save what seems to be hundreds of innocent dragons? Defend the guy who’s been trying to sell those poor fucking things on a market likelier to see them chopped into pieces than put into loving companionships? No fuckin’ way, Schechter.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” Brian scrubbed at his hair, “Listen to me, you thickheaded cowboy, Korse isn’t to be played with lightly. You fuck with him, you’ll bring him onto Downpour. You’re still planning on going back to Chicago, aren’t you? Well, we don’t go back to the big city with you. We _stay here_. This town _stays here_. These people _stay here_. And what they don’t need? Some guy with a hero complex halfheartedly fucking around with the boss’ crazy brother and then leaving us to deal with the fall out.”

“Look,” Bob said slowly, “I’m going to do the job I was hired to do. If Poison does something illegal, I’ll arrest him. If Korse does something illegal, I’ll arrest him. It’s that simple. I’m not lookin’ to stir up the hornets’ nest, but if you think for a damn second that I’ll let anyone get away with anything on my watch, you’re wrong.”

Brian shook his head, waved his hand, “You don’t understand. He’ll kill you, Bob. He will _kill_ you. Not your career, not your reputation, not in some symbolic burning of the spirit - he will take a bullet and put it through your eyes faster than you can blink.”  
“I’ve got good reflexes,” Bob patted Brian’s shoulder, curled his fingers and squeezed, “Don’t worry so much, Brian. Everything works out in the end. Usually.”  
“Usually.” Brian scoffed. Bob cracked a smile and the two of them hurried to catch up with the brothers’ Morrison, who had made it almost out the door without them.

They were led through a field, empty but obviously used for exercise and cattle grazing. He could see cows in the distance, a few dragons intermingled through the herd, guarding against predators. Closer to the house was a small building, about the size of the station’s first floor, low to the ground with thick, protective walls.

“The nursery.” Grant explained, stopping in front of the door to unlock the bolt holding it shut.

“The robbery took place between eleven last night when I went to bed,” Korse started, “And five this morning, when Grant came to check on the newest batch.”  
“Three eggs,” Grant sighed, “It was a smaller collection this time around. The loss of the eggs last time, it put many of the dragons on guard. Not many would risk breeding. With this happening again, we’ll be lucky to get two next season.”  
“Not to mention,” Korse slammed a fist into the door frame, “Freshly hatched twins.”  
“Oh, yes,” Grant nodded, looking a little distressed, “Early bloomers. They hatched very early, barely survived.”  
“Very rare,” Korse snapped, “They were Naga. Worth too much to even name. More than either of you would ever see in your whole life if you saved every penny.”  
“What, so they could breathe fire without coal?”  
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Korse rubbed his brow like he couldn’t handle Bob’s ignorance and finally stepped back so Grant could open the door for them, “I want those Naga found, and I want Party Poison hanged for this, Bryar, do you understand?”  
“There’s no proof that Poison did this, not yet.” Grant protested, “For all we know, it was that damn Pedicone.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Korse shoved inside and Bob let Brian go first, then followed, listening to them bicker back and forth about the culprit, Party Poison versus Pedicone versus some never-before-seen bandit who had heard about their precious twin Naga. Bob had never seen a Naga before, not in real life. Ranches, even big ones like the Morrison ranch, didn’t hold onto them long when they were worth so much but held so much risk. Notoriously volatile and dangerous, Naga were a market for the upper class who could afford whole houses being burned to the ground by an irate dragon who needed no coal to blast the place to cinders. Bob had no doubt that the Morrisons’ could be a part of that if they had a mind to, but at the moment they had no precautions in place for the case of a Naga being born, a freak occurrence you could only spot just before hatching, when the eggshell turned the color of fire. To have twins, two dragons of one egg, to have an inseparable Naga team...Bob could see why Korse was so upset, why even the seemingly unrufflable Grant looked distressed. Not only had they lost a great sum of money in the robbery, but they were liable if those Naga destroyed something and it was traced back to them.

“Does anyone else know that your nursery has been robbed?” Brian asked, carefully taking a look around the empty nests, “And has anyone touched anything?”  
“Yes,” Grant nodded, “Anyone in the house when the alarm was raised knows. I made sure everyone stayed out of the building, though. I’m the only one who was in here, after the discovery.”

Bob nodded, hardly listening. He was looking, for clues, for anything that didn’t look like it belonged. He’d been in a nursery before, many times as a kid and a few times more as a teen and adult. His grandparents had retired into a ranch and he’d spent many a summer outside Chicago, he and, after he’d bonded with her, Parade helping take care of baby dragons and raising the ones who had no companion yet. Most of the dragons on ranches were young, still searching for a companion, or a place where they could live or work in peace without bothering with humans. After a certain age, it was very hard for a dragon and human to bond, to make the connection that was inherent in companions, but it wasn’t impossible and there were even certain ranches which bought out older dragons and specialized in older dragon-human companionship. Bob’s grandparents had run such a ranch, his grandmother having gone a number of years without finding her companion and always wanting to open a ranch for people like her. Bob had never had to worry about not finding Parade, because her family and his had been intertwined for generations, like Corktree and Pete’s, but he’d felt for his grandmother and loved working at the ranch. The Morrison nursery brought back floods of memories, the smells of fresh dragon eggs and smoke, the heat from the insulation and the soft give of the nests where the eggs were meant to rest. He ran his eyes over each nest, looking for bright red hair or a piece of cloth familiar from Pedicone’s jacket, anything that would give either of them, or some stranger he hadn’t heard of or met yet, away to him. There was nothing though. No misplaced straw, no uneven nest or signs of a messy struggle with scared Naga twins or that the thief had even been in a hurry.

“Brian, check the lock.” Bob mumbled, crouching down at the back of the nursery. The bed was charred, no doubt from the Naga birth. The straw cushioned around where the egg would have been was blackened in a few places, but most of it had been replaced  and nearly fluffed for maximum comfort. Whoever had done this, they hadn’t just _not_ disturbed anything. They’d gotten away without causing any alarm to go off in the form of two baby Naga, not even to the point of burning the straw around them.

“The locks are fine, Bryar,” Brian mentioned, coming to crouch near him. Bob glanced over his shoulder to make sure Korse and Grant were both still at the door before he leaned closer, his voice barely a noise.

“This was an inside job, Brian.”  
“What?” Brian frowned at him, “Bryar, that’s a serious accusation. Every person employed here is from Downpour.”  
“I don’t know about that,” Bob shook his head, but he motioned to the straw, “Look. This straw, the burnt straw, it’s old. It’s from when the egg hatched. This new straw, it’s from after. It’s hardly disturbed at all. You’re telling me a stranger broke in by force, without breaking the locks at all, took three eggs and two baby fire breathers, without even one of them burning something? That doesn’t make any sense, Brian. It had to have been someone they were familiar with. Someone with a key.”

Brian looked at him, studied the straw and finally let out an explosive sigh, nodding.

“Mr. Morrison,” Brian stood, “Can we get a list of anyone who has or had a key to this building?”

“Of course,” Grant agreed, “Anything we can do to help you.”  
“Great,” Bob stood, shook himself out, “Brian and I have to get back to town. We’ve been gone long enough and there’s nothing for us to see here. Whoever did this was clean, unhurried, and knew what they were doing. I’ll see what I can do. We’ll find them, Mr. Morrison.”  
“See that you do,” Korse crossed his arms, “And when you do find them, I want who you found them with to be strung up on the gallows.”  
“We’ll see.” Bob said again, just as  carefully.

He and Brian were escorted to the car once that list had been made and given over and Bob didn’t look back. He could feel both of the Morrison brothers staring at them, at him, until the car had disappeared from view.

“Good find,” Brian said begrudgingly, a few minutes into the ride.

“Thank you,” Bob mumbled surprised, “You think I did too bad?”  
“No,” Brian shook his head, “Grant was impressed. I don’t think he would have caught on that it was someone on the inside as fast as you did. Korse, though. He’s probably got it figured out. He’s probably doing his own investigation. Any idea who did it?”  
“Truthfully? I’m completely sure that, based off the information I’ve been given, Party Poison took them. Korse was probably going to sell the Naga, stage a break in and have his people sell them for twice their value to unstable people. If it was Party Poison, he’s not going to be strung up.” Bob sighed, “If anything, I’m going to reward him. Korse...There’s something off with him. Wrong.”  
“Yeah,” Brian agreed, “Yeah, there is.”  
There was something Brian wasn’t saying, something in that simple statement that rang every alarm bell in Bob’s head. But he wasn’t going to ask. If he did, Brian might stop leaning against his arm, might remember that he wasn’t supposed to like Bob, wasn’t supposed to be jealous of a flirty butler.

He’d investigate later, when he wasn’t so comfortable next to this dry asshole who Bob really shouldn’t have liked, but really, really did.

When they got back, Northern Downpour had gone to hell. Bob could see the smoke slowly rising nearly five minutes from town and his first thought was ‘Parade’ and that was the last thing he really remembered before he was shoving the driver aside and ramming his foot into the pedal. The car went peeling off and, really, thirty miles an hour wasn’t much, but it was faster than they’d been going before and it got them there much faster. Brian was out of the car before Bob had completely taken his foot off the pedal, but Bob wasn’t far behind him.

“Parade!” Bob shouted, looking around, “Parade, where the fuck are you!?”

“Bob!” Patrick broke through the crowd of people in the street and rushed to Bob, catching himself against Bob’s arm so he wouldn’t fall face first into the dirt road, “Bob, she’s in the station. Frank and Dewees, Parade, Sorrow, they’re all trapped in the station!”  
“Bob!” Brian was suddenly back at his side, “Bob, the station’s on fire.”  
“How,” Bob started, feeling a cold shock go through him, like a bucket of water dumped onto his head, “How,”  
“Pedicone,” Patrick gasped out, “Pedicone came, half an hour ago. He...he, Bob, the station, it’s-they can’t get out, the fire’s too hot for the dragons, it’s dragon fire, it’s too hot and the other dragons can’t get near it, they-”  
“Start a line,” Bob caught Patrick’s face in his hands, made him look Bob in the face, “Patrick, I need you to start a line. I know you’re going to be okay, everything is going to be okay. Start a line, from the station to the nearest water supply. Get that fire out.”

Patrick nodded, catch Bob’s hands and squeezed, “Bob, Pete and Mikey - They’re, they’re in there, they’re in there and I -”  
“Do you trust me?” Bob asked him gently, “I promise, I’ll get them all out. Alive.”

Patrick nodded, nodded again, and finally pulled away to start forming a relay line to the nearest well.

“Brian,” Bob turned to him and took a breath, “Is there any way into the building that isn’t blocked off?”  
“It’s a fucking circle of fire.” Brian shook his head, “Pedicone must have used something, dragon grease, maybe. The walls of the station, they’re fire retardant, but they won't last long. Not with dragon fire burning at them from all sides.”  
“There’s a latch in the room of my apartment,” Bob thought out loud, “If we could get to it, we can get them out. We’ll just have to break a hole in the floor.”  
“How do we get into your apartment? The only entrance is covered in grease fire.”

Bob looked it all over, from his station to the buildings next to it, at just how high the flames were, and he thought about the words Brian had just said.

“Grease,” Bob breathed, “Brian, it’s a grease fire!”  
“Yes, it’s a grease fire,” Brian looked at him strangely, “Bob how does that help us - oh no. Patrick!”  
Bob wheeled around, watched in growing horror as the relay team’s bucket got closer. Patrick grabbed it from who looked to be one of the people who worked in Twenty One Plates and Bob was moving but Brian was faster, smaller and quicker.

“Scatter!” Bob heard himself roar,  and the line scattered, Patrick lost hold of the bucket and it went flying into the fire. Bob watched it hit the flames in slow motion, watched Brian tackle Patrick to the ground and cover him in his own body, felt someone take him down as the flames burst from nowhere, high and wide, and burning. Burning so hot that Bob could feel the burst of heat against his face, like it was peeling the skin from his face.

It was over in seconds, but it had happened, and Bob was shoving someone off of him desperately and stumbling up, tripping over himself to get to the place he’d seen them go down.

“Patrick! Brian!”

He saw smoke, first, rising from a mass where he’d seen them fall, and for a split second, Bob thought the fire had burnt them so badly that they’d been reduced to blacked ash, but then the mass twitched, shuddered, listed itself from the ground to reveal a strange dragon, holding itself above the curled over bodies of his friends.

“Oh, thank God,” Bob breathed, feeling his knees buckle just a little. The dragon huffed, smoke rising from his nostrils and curling around his short, stubby horns. He was small, Bob would guess less than ten years, his scales a collage of dark purples and blacks, almost swiped and smeared together like finger paint, while his underbelly was bright like fire. Small smudges of purple and black found their way along his under scales like thumb smears, all making their way to the center of that fire in the middle of his throat.

“Bullets, come back.” A voice called and the dragon turned, nudged at Brian and Patrick under him, and retracted the long, bruise colored wings from where he’d had them fanned along their bodies, protecting them from the fire ball.

Bob followed the voice and the first thing he noticed was bright, bright red hair. The wanted poster had done its vibrancy no favors and Bob was almost mesmerized, if only for a second.

Party Poison. Another dragon stood next to him, tall and poised for action. She was...a little twisted looking, covered in black with thin streaks of white in strange places. The only spots of color were her underbelly, dirty snow gray, and what Bob at first feared were still-seeping gashes on her face, neck and shoulders. Bullets made his way back to Party Poison’s side and Bob promptly forgot about them, falling to his knees next to Brian and Patrick and turning them over, checking them both over and trying to breathe. They were both out, but not too hurt, minor burns where Bullets hadn’t gotten, to cover them, but they were breathing and that was all Bob could ask for.

“Tyler!” Bob called, turning his head, “Tyler, get some help and put these two somewhere safe. Anyone who sees someone wounded, take them away from the fire! Get going!”  
People started picking themselves up, rushing to help neighbors and friends, all headed towards the religious center, down the opposite side of the street and a safe distance.

“You must be Sheriff Bryar.”

Bob helped Tyler, Josh and two of their staff with Brian and Patrick before he turned around to face Poison.  
“Party Poison,” He nodded, “You here to help?”  
“My companions don’t fear dragon fire.” Poison agreed, “What do you need?”  
“I need to get to the top of the building. If I can get into my apartment, I can break a hole through the top and get them out.”  
“Revenge,” He patted the faux-bleeding dragon, just like Sorrow, “Take Sheriff Bryar to the top. I’m going with you.”  
“Good.” Bob nodded at him, turned around to face the others, “It’s a grease fire! No more water! Baking soda, salt, as much as you can find!”

“There’s sacks in the store!” Ray piped up, bleeding a little from a burn on his arm, but otherwise unharmed, “Come with me and we’ll get this fire out before it burns the whole station out!”

Bob nodded, trusting the others to get the fire out. Revenge saddled closer to him and he touched her carefully, made sure she really was okay with him jumping on her before he carefully slid onto her back and clamped with his legs.

“Ready, Bryar?” Poison looked over at him from his place on Bullets’ back, watching him carefully.  
“Let’s go.”

Revenge took off almost without warning but Bob gripped onto her shoulders tight. The flight wasn’t long or terribly high, and he only got a little queasy, only felt a little guilty that he’d flown with another dragon, one that wasn’t Parade. But she was in danger, she was stuck in his station without him and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.

He was off Revenge before she’d landed, catching himself on his boots with a huff of air and then rushing to the hatch leading into his living room. There was a padlock on it, on the inside, so he did the only thing he could think of and brought all of his weight down onto the flimsy door. He’d been meaning to get it replaced, not so easy to break into, but now he was grateful for his laziness. The door gave in on the third stomp, Poison watching him nervously over his shoulder. When the door cracked and swung inward, the hinges slamming against the floor below, Bob jumped inside and, figuring Poison would follow or he wouldn’t, moved to remove the axe from its place in the ‘emergency’ compartment Brian had shown him on his first day in the apartment.

His living room was above the back room, but he thought they’d be more likely to be in the main room, with the desk and cells, so he shoved into his kitchen and, after taking a deep breath, brought the axe down with all of his strength. It went through the floor, sturdy but old and no match for the blade.  
“Need help?” Poison asked, holding up the crowbar that had been stored with the axe. Bob nodded, taking another swing.

“After me, okay? One-two count.”

Poison nodded and they set the system into play, Bob hacking at the floor on ‘one’ and Gerard slamming the crowbar into the broken wood, wiggling and lifting until the wood cracked farther on ‘two’.

They could hear the people outside, some screaming orders, the sound of fire hissing and sizzling. Bob didn’t let up, moving inches to either side until they’d made a hole they could see through. No one was in view, but Bob could hear Frank and Dewees talking, could hear Parade’s purrs and clicks, the sounds she made when she was comforting someone. Bullets and Revenge stepped in when Bob and Poison had opened up a hole over a foot wide and, with their persistent claws, they ripped a hole wide enough for even Parade to get through. Bob knew it wasn’t smart, knew it was dangerous and he could have killed himself, but it still didn’t stop him from diving into the hole as soon as it was wide enough. He landed bad, nearly twisted his ankle and wrist at the same time, but it was worth it when he felt a familiar weight slam into him and Parade was wrapping herself around him.

“Parade,” He breathed out, his arms going around her neck and shoulders, squeezing her hard and tight. His eyes suddenly burned, his throat closed up, and he couldn’t think to do anything but hug her and feel the relief swamp him.

“Frank!” Poison’s voice broke in and Bob looked up in time to see him drop into the room in a much smoother manner than Bob had. Frank made a choked noise, looking scared and sooty, one hand wrapped in wet cloth, and threw himself into Poison’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

“About time you two showed up,” Dewees smiled, looking shaken but relieved. Sorrow flittered and clicked until Bullets was flopping out of the hole, Revenge close behind and the three of them were wrapping themselves around each other, Revenge and Bullets swallowing Sorrow into them until the three of them were a dark ball of flittering wings and keening at each other.

Bob took another breath, made himself calm down, because they weren’t safe yet. They wouldn’t be safe until they were all safe and out of the building.

“Let’s get out of here,” He finally managed. “Where are Pete and Mikey?”  
“They’re locked in the back room,” Frank sniffed, rubbing at his eyes, hard, “They were trying to get out that way and the door’s too hot for either of us to get through, now. It’s a furnace in there.”

Bob nodded, rubbing at Parade’s shoulder.

“Come on, Parade. Let’s go save that jackass, once again.”  
With her, he was brave again, could feel the calm soothing his ruffled nerves, could think straight.

“That door is nothing to you, sweetheart. We’re going to break it down.”

She made an agreeing noise, smoke rising from her mouth, between her fangs, like he was dying to destroy that door.

“Mikey’s in there?” Poison asked, voice oddly panicked.

“He’s with Pete,” Frank said gently, squeezing one of Poison’s hands with his uninjured one, “It’s just very, very hot. He’s fine, otherwise. The fire hasn’t broken through the walls, yet.”

“And it won’t, if they can get it out.” Dewees said firmly, sounding sure and unafraid. Bob nodded at him.

“They will. Toro’s got all the baking soda and salt in the shop out there now.”

He and Parade made their way to the door, and he looked it over. He’d gone into the back room only twice and he hadn’t really checked the consistency of the door when he’d been doing it, but it was thick and sturdy, meant to be sound proof so no one would hear the others talking in the office. If he yelled loud enough, though, they’d be able to hear him.

“Pete!?”

There was a momentary pause and then: “Bob!?”  
“Pete, Parade is going to break down the door! Get out of the way!”

“It’s seriously hot!” Pete warned, “Be careful!”

“Here we go!” Bob warned one last time, resting a hand on Parade’s hot scales. It was raising in temperature in the station, from the fire surrounding it outside, and the fear inside making the air stuffy and uncomfortable.

“Ready, girl?”

Parade huffed again and stood up, rested her front legs, locked straight, against the door. She reared back and slammed her full weight into the door and it cracked under her. She pulled away and Bob pressed her clawed feet against his cooler skin, felt the bite of her claws against his cheeks.  
“One more time, sweetheart. We’re almost through. You’re so brave, sweetheart.”

She nipped at him teasingly and took position again. He knew her pads were burning against the metal plating of the door but she didn’t show it. Instead, she reared back and slammed into it again and, this time, the door went down with her and she tumbled into the room. A burst of sheer heat fumed from the room, followed by two sweating, half naked bodies. Pete grinned at Bob, sweating and tired and burned along his shoulders and back, but relieved.

“Bobert, I knew you’d come home soon.”  
“Shit, Pete,” Bob reached out, hugged him carefully, “You need a doctor. Right now. You all do.”

“Shit, we do.” Mikey mumbled, not looking much better than Pete. Party Poison yanked him into a hard hug and they squeezed each other tight, desperate. Different from how he’d hugged Frank.

Bob couldn’t worry about it.

“Poison, we need to get them up to the roof.”  
“Yeah,” Poison agreed, wiping the sweat from his brow once he’d released Mikey, “Of course. Revenge, take Dewees. Sorrow, can you take Frank?”

Sorrow made a tweeting noise, the three of them disengaging from each other to help their new human charges into the second floor.

“Bullets, take Mikey.”

“Gee,” Mikey started then coughed, “Poison, what about you?”  
“I’ll get up there.” Poison squeezed his wrist, “Just make sure Frank’s okay. He’s hurt bad, Mikes. His hand,”  
“He tried to open the door,” Mikey shook his head, “I’ll make sure he’s safe. Just get the fuck up there.”  
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. Where the hell are Killjoy and Corktree?”

“We left them at Liberty,” Pete coughed, “We were just stopping by for a quick chat with Frank, we didn’t think…”  
“It’s okay,” Bob shook his head, “Everyone up. Parade, you think you can make two trips?”  
She gave him an unimpressed look and he cracked a smile, pushed Pete at her, “Take him.”  
“Bob,” Pete protested.

“Patrick’s hurt,” Bob interrupted, “He’s hurt and he needs you, so get the fuck out of here, Wentz.”  
Pete gave him a look, the ‘I know what you’re doing’ look, but he didn’t protest again. Instead, he slid onto her back and Parade was bounding up, not even twitching her wings as she joined Revenge, Bullets, and Sorrow. He took a breath, rubbed his face and looked at Poison.

“I’m Bob, by the way.”  
Poison laughed, nodded, “My friends call me Poison,”

He offered his hand and Bob took it, shook it.

“When we get outta’ this, remind me to deputize you.” Bob promised, feeling relief that this was almost over. There was just one little problem, but he’d get there when he got there. Maybe the fire would be out and this was all for nothing.

“I’ll do that,” Poison smirked, nodding, “Though you might not be so easy going, when we aren’t in a burning building filled with loved ones.”  
“We’ll see,” Bob coughed, suddenly noticing the smoke filling the room.

“It’s starting to burn.”  
“Shit,” Poison cursed, “Any bright ideas?”

“Parade!” Bob called, “Parade, we’re in trouble!”

Parade appeared seconds later, slithering out of the hole and back into Bob’s embrace without pause. Bullets followed close after, not even letting Poison mount him, but sliding between Poison’s feet and standing up with his load intact on his back. Poison wobbled for just a moment before he found his balance and he gave Bob a look, amused but a little bit embarrassed about it, and then he was out of the room, back through the hole with his dragon.  
“You ready for this, sweetheart?” Bob asked quietly, holding tight to her. She wiggled a little and he took a breath. Between one blink and the next, she was through the hole, through the hatch, and they were on the roof, all of them. Alive.

“There they are!” Someone shouted, and Bob looked over the tips of the flames, looking high but a little weaker than before, “Sheriff Bob and Party Poison have saved them!”

A cheer went up and the flames were suddenly receding just a little bit. They’d be put out, eventually, but Frank, Mikey, Pete, and probably Dewees, not even to mention their dragons, needed medical attention, and they needed it now.

“We’re almost in the clear,” Dewees breathed, his chest expanding and he let his lungs breathe in the mostly fresh hair, “We just have to fly to the other roof, right?”

“Right.” Poison agreed, “Dewees, Mikey, Revenge and Bullets will take you. Sorrow’s not big enough to support Frank so you’ll be making two trips. Think you can handle it?”

Revenge snorted smoke at him and Bullets didn’t bother offering a reply. Instead, he hunkered down so Mikey’s gangly limbs could find a safe, comfortable place around him, and then he took off, followed closely by Dewees and Revenge.

“Bob,” Pete said carefully, “Bob, Parade’s wings.”  
“I know.” Bob nodded, “I’ll handle it. Poison, I need one of them to take Pete.”  
“What do you mean?” Poison frowned, not taking his eyes off his dragons as they flew the distance, not far, but too far to jump, especially with a person.

“Parade can’t fly.” Bob got out, feeling choked again. His hand, shaking, found its way to her head, scratched at her horns until she pressed her face into his fingers.

“Can’t… Her wings? Are they hurt?”  
“No,” Bob shook his head, but looking them over, they did look a little singed, “No, she just. She can’t fly. She hasn’t been able to in years. Just get Pete on the ground, we’ll figure something out.”

When Revenge and Bullets returned, Pete was placed onto Revenge.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Frank protested quietly from where he’d been the whole time, plastered against one of Poison’s sides.

“I’ll be right there.” Poison said gently. Bob turned away so he wouldn’t intrude on their moment, intimate and soft, not for his eyes. Instead, he looked Parade over, pressed his fingers against her wings.

“What do you say, sweetheart? Wanna try flying?”  
She gave him a stern look, all the answer he needed.

“Be neither,” He admitted, “But it’s the only thing we can do.”

He heard them take off behind him and then Poison was at his side again, looking uncertain.

“If you can’t fly,” He said carefully, “How are you going to get off the roof?”  
“I don’t know.” Bob shrugged, “The fall's too far, the jumps not possible…”

Parade’s wings fluttered, spread just a little.

“Spread them out for me,” Bob asked and she did, stretched them wide so he could see the burn marks, the weak muscle, “Even if she wanted to, they’re too weak to support her. She wasn’t meant for the sky, Poison.”  
“I get it,” Poison nodded, rubbing at his hair nervously, “But she’s got to try. She doesn’t have to fly far. She can fucking glide if she gets enough momentum. Revenge and Bullets, they might be able to support her between them. It would be dangerous as fuck, though.”  
“Shit,” Bob cursed. Parade made a similar sound and gnashed her teeth until smoke came out.

“Think you can glide, Parade?” Bob cajoled, “I know you can. You just have to make it next door. Forty feet. Just forty feet. Like running on air.”

“You’ve got to try,” Poison said quickly, looking over his shoulder, “The flames on that side are getting higher. If you don’t do it now, you won’t get the chance.”  
“Just try, Parade.” Bob pleaded, “I know you can do this, you just have to try.”

She turned her eyes on him, all moon pupils and his own blue back at him, serious and trusting, but scared. Scared like he was.

“I trust you.” He said softly, pressing his head to hers, “I know you can do this. You’re strong, Parade. You know that. Show them. They think you can’t fly. Show them you just don’t want to.”

She huffed and smoke filled his nose, his mouth, his eyes and ears.

He blinked, tears clearing his eyes, and she was ready. He stepped back and watched her move to the other side of the roof, a backdrop of grease fire against her black scales, smoke rising from her horns. When she took off, she was too fast for him to follow, almost. He whipped his head around, watched her take off, spread her wings wide, the white of the underwing catching in the sun, near blinding. She wasn’t meant for the sky, no matter what anyone said, but damn, was she beautiful.

He ran to the edge of the roof, almost toppled over had Poison not caught his arm, but he had to see her make it, had to have his eyes on her the whole time she flapped harder and harder until she was gliding, her wings were completely unfurled, tilted to catch the wind she needed to stay up. She started to drop and he gave a wordless cry, feeling terror welling in him until she flapped frantically and regained altitude. By the time she’d tumbled onto the roof, he felt like he’d lost years of his life. He barely noticed Poison pressing him onto Revenge, unable to take his eyes off of her rapidly moving flank, like she was hyperventilating. He had to get to her. He barely noticed the flight, jumping off Revenge midair again and landing on his knees. He didn’t bother getting up, just crawled to her side and pressed his whole body to hers, kissing her face and pressing his head to her cheek.

“You did it, you fucking did it, my beautiful girl, I’m so fucking proud of you,”

She huffed at him, sounding shaken, still fucking terrified, just like him. They laid there for a while, just getting their breath back and settling into the knowledge that, for the first time in over twenty years, she’d flown and she’d succeeded.

“Never again.” He promised, “Never, ever.”

She nodded back at him, hid her face in his neck and shoulder and he listened to her heart beat through her neck, the blood pulsing against the skin and his cheek until they were both calm again.

“Come on,” He finally grunted, sitting up, “Come on, we’ve got a town to take care of. Can’t leave them to do it all alone, Parade.”  
She chirped something back at him, probably insulting, but he couldn’t help smiling anyway. When he looked around, Frank and Poison were still on the roof, standing too close together and waiting for he and Parade to get their shit together.

He stood up and she struggled to her feet, grunting at the hard wood against the burns of her feet.

“Frank, you need a doctor.” He finally said, clearing his throat, “Can you take Parade to one of the vets? McCoy, if he’s available.”  
“Got it, boss.” Frank agreed, “Thanks for saving us.”  
“Thanks for not being dead,” Bob nodded, “Now get to, I’ve got a grease fire to put out.”  
“Yes sir,” Frank saluted with his good hand and, after pressing another kiss to Poison’s lips, left with Parade, into the building to make their way to ground level and find a few doctors.

“You stickin’ around?” Bob asked Poison, settling his hands on his hips and stretching his back out. Heroics were for the young and he was getting to be out of that range in a few years.

“To help put it out, and get the deputation,” Poison smirked, “What’s my job, Sheriff?”  
“It’s Bob,” Bob scoffed, “Your job? Let’s see the progress and then we’ll assign jobs.”

-

When the fire was officially put out, the whole of the station was blackened with soot and ash but, luckily, it was nothing more than surface damage. Bob had a tarp put up over the hole and the latched door so he had the semblance of privacy until he could find the time to get them fixed, but he probably wouldn’t be finding the time to actually be in his apartment for quite a while yet.

“You look tired,” Patrick frowned, looking at Bob with concern. Bob sighed, rolling his shoulders. He was taking a break, just long enough to catch his breath and drink some water, get the burns along his arms covered by Doctor Hurley while Graves, Hurley’s companion, was running bandages along the lines of injured people. The last of the fire had been put out with water, because they’d run out of baking soda, and a few people had been captured in the bursts of flame before they had spluttered out. Doctor Trohman and Infinity were somewhere close by, even though Joe was a dentists and could give only basic first aid. Bob had seen flashes of red here and there, Poison organizing small parties to make sure that the surrounding, less fireproof, buildings hadn’t been damaged. Bob knew he should have been there with him, but he needed the break. They’d been at this for hours and Poison hadn’t had to deal with Korse today, yet. Bob didn’t doubt that the Morrison brothers would show up eventually, once there was time to actually send someone to get them. Bob had commandeered their driver to help in the fire.

“Bryar,” Brian snapped, for what might have been not quite the first time, and Bob blinked, looking up at him, “Did you hear me?”  
“He’s hurt, Brian,” Patrick protested, “Let him rest a little.”  
“A lot of people are hurt,” Brian frowned, “Bob’s the Sheriff now, he doesn’t have time to rest.”  
“But-” Patrick started, getting that look on his face. Bob really didn't want to see the outcome of Patrick’s ‘fight me’ look and Brian’s annoyed stubbornness, so he waved Hurley off of his arm with a thankful look and hauled himself up.

“Don’t worry, ‘trick. I’m good.”  
“No you aren’t,” Patrick stood with him, a supporting hand on his arm, “You’re hurt, Bob. You’re covered in grease burns and you’re dead on your feet. You’ve been at this for hours.”  
“I promise, I’ll stop soon.” Bob gripped Patrick’s hand and squeezed, wondered if Patrick could ever stay oblivious to how he made Bob feel when Bob couldn’t help but look at him like he was the sun. Maybe because Bob had always looked at him like that and Patrick just didn’t understand what it meant, coming from Bob. “Go find Pete and Mikey, make sure that idiot’s okay. He’s worse off than I am.”

“No, he isn’t,” Patrick sighed, but he shoved Bob’s face between his hands firmly and gave him a sturdy, ‘you-listen-to-me’ look; the same look he’d been giving Bob and his stupid decision making since they were in diapers, “Now you listen to me, Bob Bryar. You take care of yourself. No more heroics.”  
“No more heroics,” Bob promised, smiling, “I promise.”

Patrick eyed him but he let his hands drop away from Bob’s face. Bob missed them. “I’ll hold you to that, Bryar.”  
“Go find your husband, Wentz.” Bob teased and watched him go, until he disappeared into Hurley’s practice, where Pete and Mikey had been confined for severe heat exposure.

Finally, Bob turned back to Brian, ready to start with whatever Brian needed him to do. The look on his face made Bob tense up all over again.

“What,” Bob frowned, “Why do you look like that? Stop it, the fire’s out. No need to look so desolate.”

“Fuck you,” Brian said, but it lacked its usual bite, “Bob, I mean. Is that why you’re here?”  
“Don’t be stupid. We don’t need to talk about this.”  
“Bob,” Brian started, sounding hesitant, “Pete and Patrick...they’re solid.”  
“I know,” Bob snapped, “Brian, I know. Who do you got them here? They’re fucking solid as shit and they’d better stay that way or I’m going to skin someone.”  
“I saw your face,” Brian said gently, “You looked…”  
“Look, Pete knows, okay?” Bob rubbed his face. He should have known, of everyone

who must have noticed his stupid feelings, that Brian would be the one to confront him about it. “He’s always known. We have an understanding. He doesn’t get jealous or try to stop us from being friends, Patrick doesn’t know, I don’t say anything. It works, it’s how I want it to be just as much as him. Just drop it, Schechter. What did you want?”

Brian twisted the rag in his hand, “Never mind. I’ll do it on my own. You rest.”  
“Brian,” Bob snapped, feeling irrationally angry for a split second. Brian nearly flinched and Bob took a breath, “Look. It isn’t a problem. It’s never been a problem. Whatever tragic backstory you’re creating in your head, it isn’t true. All of us are happy with this, really. Now, tell me. What is it you need me to do?”  
“...S-and-T lost a huge amount of product and they’re not gonna make their redline this month if it isn’t replace, so we need to go over the station budget and see how much we can cover before we start a collection for it.”

“Let’s do that.” Bob nodded, “Poison and Dewees have got this covered, we can budget in the damages while we’re at it.”  
“That’ll take all night,” Brian warned, “You sure you want to help with that?”  
“Shut up, Schechter.” Bob rolled his eyes, but even he had to admit that it was a lot looser, a little bit fonder than before. Brian had a caring side. Who knew?”

-

“You deputized Party Poison,”

And, sure, they weren’t the first words Bob thought he’d hear from Mayor Morrison’s mouth the next afternoon, once he and Brian had woken up from where they’d crashed in his bedroom in the early morning. He didn’t want to think about waking up next to Brian, though, of catching himself watching the way Brian’s chest rose and fell in sleep, the way the tiredness he usually carried with him was slowly disappearing as he slept on. Instead, Bob focused on the now, on Grant standing in the burnt doorway of the damaged police station.

“I did.” Bob agreed, “I can do that, as Sheriff.”  
“You can.” Grant said carefully, “But I’ve never known a Sheriff to be so stupid as to publicly fight Korse on the matter of one flame haired outlaw.”  
“Call me crazy,” Bob agreed, “But only one of them was in town all night, making sure the buildings were all okay and no one was seriously injured, and it sure as hell wasn’t your brother. Besides, if Poison is the one that broke into your nursery, I’d want him close to find the proof.”

“I...see.” Grant nodded, “And Brian knows about this?”  
“Well,” Bob shrugged, and the Brian behind his eyelids wasn’t the one he knew to be sitting in the backroom with their freshly budgeted books. “He knows Poison will be around for a while. Iero’s happy.”  
“Yes, I would assume being able to spend actual time with his secret fiancé must be nice.” Grant smiled, finally walking all the way into the building. The tarp being used as a temporary door, the doors of before not having been fireproofed, swung closed behind him. “I take it Brian is budgeting expenses?”

“We did that last night,” Bob shook his head, “Right now, I think he’s going over boundary maps.”

Grant nodded, tipped his hat at Bob, and walked into the backroom with a knock against the door frame, announcing himself before he swept through the curtain replacing the metal plated door of before.

Bob shrugged, went back to carefully cleaning the soot and ash off Parade’s scales while she slept against his legs, and did not look up again until another throat was cleared in the station’s doorway.

“Sheriff?”

Bob blinked at Parade tiredly, but Pete’s teasing voice did finally break through the fog and he looked up, smiling.

“Wentz, you asshole. I thought you were dead.”  
“Yeah, right,” Pete laughed, swaggering into the station like he owned the joint. And really, Bob wouldn’t be surprised if he did. “You’d miss me if I were gone.”  
“Sure,” Bob agreed, drawing the word out just to watch the amusement on Pete’s face, “How’s the burns looking?”  
“Better than yesterday, that’s for sure. Mikey and I would have been goners if you and Parade hadn’t knocked down that door. Sorrow was way too small.”  
“Frank tried to open it,” Bob shook his head, “You’re welcome, small fry.”  
“You’re coming to dinner tonight.” Pete announced, “Tyler and Josh are hosting a free meal to celebrate the town not burning down.”  
“Yeah?” Bob looked at him speculatively. He’d never trusted a free meal a day in his life, but with all the work he’d put in yesterday, he wouldn’t consider it a free meal. “You sure they’re okay with all that money loss?”  
“If the station had burnt down,” Pete settled against Bob’s desk, “Then the whole town would have been for forfeit. I think they’re just glad to be able to stay here, you know? You saved more than just a few guys stuck inside, Bob. You saved Northern Downpour.”

“You really think Morrison would take the land back if the station had burnt down?”  
“It isn’t Grant,” Pete lowered his voice, “It’s Korse. He’d snatch it right up from under his brother’s nose at a second’s notice. You know all he needs is the station to go down. Besides, he’s on a warpath with the rumors of a new deputy abound.”  
“They aren’t rumors,” Bob rolled his eyes at Pete’s fishing, “Party Poison is officially a deputy of Northern Downpour. He did great work and, from what I can tell, he’s always done great work. Not his fault the police force was corrupt as shit.”

“You, sir,” Pete laughed, ruffling at Bob’s hair, “Are a God among men, as far as one Frankie Iero is concerned.”  
“Yeah,” Bob smirked, “A real fuckin’ Zeus. How’s Patrick holding up?”

“Well, when he and Brian woke up and you were gone, they flipped their shit a little, apparently. But otherwise, he’s doing okay. The scare of a lifetime, both of us in this fucking death trap.”  
“And his burns?”  
“Minor.” Pete went softer, looked at Bob with understanding, acceptance. It made Bob feel almost dirty, but warm. It was okay, and they both knew it. He loved Patrick, but he loved Pete too, in a different way. More than even Patrick, Pete had been able to see Bob and give him the acceptance he’d always craved; validation, an open trust, even with the thing Pete cherished most. “He’ll be okay, Bob.”  
“I know,” Bob exhaled, squeezed Pete’s knee and stood up, “Let’s go check on the school before Brian finds out about Poison and tries to gut me.”  
“You got it, Sheriff.” Pete teased. If he tried to jump on Bob’s back, Bob wouldn’t admit that he was fast to catch him when he started to slide back off.

When they left the station, Poison was leaning against the outer wall, waiting.

“Deputy,” Bob nodded at him, smirking just a little at the flash of pride in Poison’s eye before he smothered it.

“Sheriff, Mr. Wentz.”  
“It’s Pete, dude.” Pete offered his hand from over Bob’s shoulder, “Nice to see you, again.”  
“About that.” Poison took his hand and shook, “There’s a little something I need to discuss with the two of you, and your husband.”  
“Patrick?” Pete frowned, “What for?”  
“Uh,” Poison glanced around at the open street, “See, it’s a little...delicate.”  
“Of course,” Bob nodded, dropping Pete on his ass, “Pete, run and get Patrick. We’ll be at your house.”  
“You got it, boss man.” Pete stood and patted his ass off, beginning to jog towards the convenience store, to be paid for their losses in two weeks’ time.

When he was out of sight, Bob began to trek to the Stump-Wentz home.

Poison followed by his side, easy going and confident. Watching every step he took on the off chance there was someone there to get him.

“How’s Mikey?” Bob asked, once they’d left the main street, “Still recovering all right?”  
“Yep,” Poison nodded, messing with the silver ring on his finger. Frank had an identical one on his finger. Bob thought it was kind of cute - and did it sting to use that word - that they had to same habit of messing with it. “He’s a strong kid. We’ll be just fine.”  
“It must of been hard, being an outlaw with family in town.”  
“You’re pretty observant for a city slicker,” Poison smiled, giving him a particular look. Bob shrugged so he continued, “It sucks, but what can you do? Mikey’s safe here, respected and included. My kind of life is no place for someone with so much potential.”  
Bob nodded, fishing out the spare key from the crack in the wooden walls and unlocking their front door once they’d made it up the steps. He let Poison inside and was surprised to see a metal box sitting on the table.

“Your handiwork?” He asked.

“My benefactor’s,” Poison shrugged, “It wasn’t safe, not without the container.”  
“I’m getting a bad feeling, and I really don’t like where this is going.” Bob frowned, “Am I going to have to arrest you for this?”  
“Maybe,” Poison admitted, “But hopefully, you’ll see things my way.”  
“Your way better be good, dragging me away in the middle of rush hour,” Patrick intruded, walking through the door with Pete on his heels, “And let me tell you, Mister Party Poison, I do not appreciate all this.”  
“I’m real sorry, Mister Stump,” Poison smiled a little nervously, “It’s just, this is kind of, um…”  
“It’s a little bit illegal,” Bob informed them, “But you’re no stranger to that, so I think you’ll keep your knickers untwisted while Poison explains what he’s up to to us.”  
“I’ll try,” Patrick smiled, “But you know my knickers are always in a bunch when the law's involved.”  
Pete laughed, a little louder than necessary, but he was getting a little nervous and Bob couldn’t blame him.  
“So, let me start off with saying,” Poison began, “That Korse Morrison is selling dragons from the ranch to black market buyers to be ripped apart and sold in pieces.”  
“No suppositions?” Bob raised an eyebrow, “That is a very, very serious felony you’re accusing one of the most influential men in this county of.”  
“I have proof,” Poison shook his head, “And I will show it to you, when I have it compiled together. For now, it’s in a safe place, where Korse can’t get his greedy, dragon killing hands on it.”

Bob thought back on Parade, still sleeping in the station, keeping guard on Brian and Grant while Bob was gone. From the looks of it, Pete and Poison had left their companions behind as well. Bob could understand Pete leaving Corky to watch shop, but why Bullets and Revenge were gone, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Say we believe you,” Pete frowned, “What’s that got to do with us? I’m Grant’s lawyer, I can see why you’d be telling me, and Bob’s the Sheriff, but why did you ask for Patrick?”  
“Because two nights ago, I rescued two newborn Naga from the Morrison nursery a few hours before Korse was set to sell them to the highest bidder at a shady auction in the city.”  
“What.” Patrick staggered a little, caught himself on Bob, “What.”  
“Shit,” Bob groaned, “Shit, shit, shit. Is that what’s in the box? Did you bring those fucking Naga into town, Poison?”  
“I had to,” Poison nodded, “There’s nowhere for them to go. My benefactor was able to get me this box.” He touched it, “But they’re newborns. Babies. I’d leave them with Mikey, but Korse knows I have a connection to him and it isn’t safe for them in town proper. What with being the best friends of the Sheriff, maybe Patrick could take them in. I know you’ve already got a companion,” He nodded at Pete, “But, as far as I know, Patrick’s free. I was hoping…”  
“You know it’s a one in a million chance that I’d bond with a Naga,” Patrick said pointedly, “Let alone twin Naga. They’re plastered all over the papers, Poison.”  
“I know.” Poison agreed, “And I’d never dream of asking this of you if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”  
“What if I do and you take down Korse, and Grant wants them back?” Patrick frowned, “What do I do if I do bond with them, but I have to give them back?”  
“You won’t.” Poison shook his head, “I promise, if you bond with them, Grant would never take them away from you.”  
“And what if you don’t get Korse, and _he_ takes them away?” Pete asked quietly, touching Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick had always wanted a companion. Someone who he could love and bond with the way he saw Bob and Parade, Pete and Corktree, love each other. Bob knew Poison hadn’t meant to be so cruel, to offer the chance for Patrick to find the companion that was meant for him when they were in such a precarious position, but…

“We will get Korse,” Poison promised, “I swear on my life. On my companions’ lives. We’ll get him.”

Patrick hesitated, took Bob’s hand and squeezed. Bob squeezed back, rubbing his thumb over Patrick’s knuckle twice. Pete rubbed Patrick’s shoulder gently and Patrick finally exhaled hard, nodded.

“Let me at them.”

Poison didn’t smile or nod. He led Patrick to the table, Pete and Bob close behind, and slowly unlatched the box, opening the lid to reveal a nest of straw and shredded newspaper. For a moment, Bob feared the box was empty and they’d, somehow, escaped. But there was a sudden movement, a snap like lightning, and the top layer of straw burst into little flames. When the fire had burnt itself out, revealed from the ashes, were two small, red dragons. Barely the size of month old kittens, they curled around each other for warmth, mewing and crooning for comfort as soon as their eyes met the light. One of them had dark brown irises and sclera, nearly impossible to find the marginally lighter pupil within. It’s sibling, on the other hand, had bright brown eyes, light enough to almost be yellow, with pale pupils slit like a cat’s. The red of their scales was molten, dark in some places, lighter in others, near gradient.

Patrick carefully reached a hand into the box, let the brave one lean it’s little beak up to nip, shove, and finally press against his fingers. Once deemed safe by its sibling, the more timid of the two did the same. Patrick let out a hard breath, one Bob remembered from years and years ago.  
It looked like Poison would have to keep that promise, because Patrick had bonded with Korse’s stolen Naga and there was no way Bob could return them now, not with Patrick’s happiness on the line.

“What are their names?” Pete asked softly, not wanting to scare them. Patrick lifted them with a single palm, the two of them fitting awkwardly for a few moments before being cradled against his chest. They scrambled, chirped and purred at him until they were safely tucked under his chin, their little claws digging into the material of his shirt and their eyes closing into sleep almost immediately.  
“Folie, and Duex.” Patrick mumbled quietly, motioning to the just slightly larger of the two, “Folie’s the eldest. Duex is very timid for a girl, don’t you think?”  
“Very.” Bob agreed, turning his eyes to Poison. Poison looked relieved, like he almost hadn’t expected it to work.

“I’ll tell Toro you got sick.” Bob squeezed Patrick in a careful hug, “And I’ll send Corktree home to meet the new arrivals.”  
“Be careful,” Poison warned, “They might not be calm around new dragons at first. And remember, they’re Naga. They don’t need coal to burn everything down. Try to get them to sleep in the box when they can’t be watched. Lindsey, Steve, Jimmy, Kitty, Mikey or Frank will be willing to watch them when you need someone too, so try introducing them all soon. For now though…”  
“Take a week with them.” Bob advised, having seen plenty of newly bonded companions in his time, “I’ll see you guys, later.”  
“Bye, Bob.” Patrick mumbled after him as he and Poison made their way to the door. But his tone was distracted, in awe. Bob couldn’t blame him.

“This is going to bite you in the ass.” Bob mentioned as soon as they were out of sight and sound.

“I needed them safe. What safer place than with Patrick Stump?”  
“Literally anywhere not in Northern Downpour.” Bob rubbed his face, “You listen to me, Poison. If you get sloppy, I’m going to have to put you in jail, do you understand? If they find a single red hair in the whole of that ranch and they trace it back to one of your heroics, you’re in the slammer.”  
“I understand.” Poison agreed. They both understood that at no point had Bob said, ‘stop your heroics or you’re headed for jail’, and Poison heard the warning loud and clear.

-

Being seen with Pete on his back had opened a floodgate Bob hadn’t even known existed. Pete was one thing, on special occasions, but apparently all Bob had needed to do to become literally the best person in history to one Frank Iero, was make it legal for his fiancé to be in town with him. Being so high on the list apparently qualified him to be Frank’s number one piggy-back-giver at any time and Bob, for all he acted surly and dumped Frank on his ass more often than not, couldn’t say he disliked making friends outside of Pete and Patrick. Frank and Dewees were his co-workers, of course, but over the next few weeks of cowboys fucking around in town until they learned that Bob wasn’t afraid to overpopulate the cells for a few nights a year, with the occasional Pedicone attacks - none as terrible as that day now that either Bob or Brian were always in town, with the constant threat of Korse over their shoulders, they became his friends, almost...almost a family. Mikey had been right, of course, when he’d told Bob that the town, the people, they would all grow on him. He just hadn’t known that he’d grown on them, as well, be so accepted into something he hadn’t even recognized as existing until he realized, eight weeks into his stint as Sheriff of Northern Downpour, that he knew every single person’s name - from the drunk who hung around Harmless Venom, to the new born baby Miss Salpeter and Mister Morris had just had, still in Doctor Hurley’s office to be monitored for anomalies. Until he realized that he didn’t need invitations to know when the next town meeting was, the next get together at the bar or Twenty One Plates; that he didn’t know exactly where he had picked up the knowledge but he could tell you that the religious center’s schedule was flexible for anyone of differing religious tendencies who wished to have a ceremony - with the choice of Holy Man McCracken or any of his three cohorts; that Northern Downpour had six nurses known as the Panickers because, no matter which doctor of the three in town and the three on staff at the Morrison ranch, every one of them managed to have a near panic attack in the middle of operations, but were all good kids and great with children; that Frank and Dewees ran an underground tattoo and piercing business on the weekends; that Brian had been a lot closer to the late Sheriff that anyone was willing to admit and he still visited the graveyard every two weeks to leave fresh flowers at the Pelissiers’ graves; that Patrick’s new arrivals quickly became the town secret that everyone knew about but never spoke on, not even Mayor Morrison, though he had never agreed to let Patrick keep them, and that Poison’s forays into the saving of Korse’s intended product was another secret that Bob had to keep all on his own. Until Bob realized that he’d become a part of something that Chicago could never have, a community so close knit and genuinely fond of each other that the thought of being accepted into it made Bob’s steps stop in the middle of the road.

“Bob?” Brian asked, frowning at him. Once, Bob would have seen that frown and thought Brian was annoyed at being held up, at being held back from wherever they’d been headed. Now, Bob knew Brian was concerned. That he had a strange way of showing that he cared, but that he _did_ care. That he cared about _Bob_.

“It’s nothing,” Bob shook his head and picked up his pace, catching up to him, “Tell me what we’re doing again? You kind of blew in through the main room without a word.”  
“I said, ‘Bob, follow me.’ Those are words,” Brian protested, smiling at Bob under the brim of his hat. Bob rolled his eyes, tilted his own hat farther down to block out the sun. He’d admit, it wasn’t as hot as it had been when he’d first shown up, or maybe he’d just grown used to it. Maybe winter in the West was different from winter in the East. He’d never been here to find out, before.

“We’re going to check the water supply.” Brian informed him, “Hayley got sick last night and Jeremy said it was after she went to get a drink.”  
“What do we do if it is tainted?”

They were walking closer than Bob would normally walk next to someone, their fingers brushing lightly every few steps. Brian didn’t pull away and the dry, rough feeling of Brian’s skin against his wasn’t something Bob was willing to lose without a fight. He wouldn’t admit it, not to anyone but himself because he always tried to be honest with himself, but Brian had fast become one of his favorite people in town. Was perhaps his most favorite, besides Pete and Patrick.

“We seal it off, open one of the backup wells and find out what exactly is tainting this one, before anyone else gets sick, too.”

They found the well without trouble, it being the main water supply to the town, and Brian pulled out one of the measurers he’d brought back from his last journey to the city with the only criminal Bob had arrested with the intention of keeping in jail for longer than a night.

“Here we go,” Brian shoved a bucket under the spit and Bob started pumping. They stopped when the bucket was half filled and Brian settled the meter in the water, crouched to watch it work. Bob stayed standing, looking outwards for trouble.

“Shit,” Brian sighed, “Looks like somethings in it. We’ll have to open up the one out by Old Man Attonito’s, send out a party to see what’s wrong with the springs.”  
“The ones by the old mines, right? Maybe something from the mines leaked in.”  
“I hope not.” Brian shrugged, “But we’ll see. Come on, let’s get back and send Poison out. Revenge is pretty fast, it won't take him too long to get there.”  
“You know,” Bob shrugged, helped Brian stand and wiped the meter off on his own shirt so Brian wouldn’t on his nice suit, “It’s been quite a few weeks. You think we’d know his name by now.”  
“He says he won’t tell until Korse is behind bars,” Brian shrugged, looking amused. Bob could tell from the way his lips twitched upwards and his eyebrows weren’t so severe. “Whatever. We’ll send he and his companions. Spencer’s getting sick of not being the only one with two companions, I’m sure he’ll appreciate being a special snowflake again for a while.”  
Bob almost said, ‘Patrick’s still in town,’, but he bit his tongue because he didn’t really want to give Brian an ulcer from worry. “I’m sure Virtues and Vices will be okay sharing the spotlight. For a nurse, he’s kind of high strung.”  
“You respect it, don’t lie.” Brian nudged him, “He reminds you of you.”  
“Yeah, that’s it.” Bob nodded seriously, “I’ve always been a nurse with pretentiously named companions, on the inside.”  
“Parade?” Brian raised an eyebrow, “Her name is Parade, Bob.”  
“She chose it!” Bob protested, thinking back on his companion. Really, she’d grown a little too attached to the Naga and spent a lot of her free time in the upstairs apartment of S-and-T, where Poison had taken residence and where the Naga were concealed while Patrick worked. They were growing bigger and bigger every day, almost up to Bob’s knees after only two months. “Besides, it fits her.”  
“It sure does,” Brian nodded, “I’ve never seen a dragon with so much pomp and confidence in every step.”  
“That’s my sweetheart,” Bob agreed, smiling. Their fingers hooked together for a few seconds before the natural swing of their arms disconnected them. Bob, very carefully, didn’t look at Brian, and felt Brian doing the same. Still, he could see the start of a smile on Brian’s face and it made Bob’s stomach warm and flutter.

They made it back into town without much difficulty, being stopped by the school to listen to Mister Jeremy chide one of the girls for shoving one of the boys into the pond while they loomed as consequences awaiting, and then being stopped again by Gabe to talk about William’s upcoming bar test in the city, so he could finally go into business with Pete officially as a permanent partner in Liberty and Legality. By the time they made it to the station, they were both a little relieved to make it back before the sun set and a little confused to see a strange car sitting in front of the still slightly-charred station, having missed its arrival some time ago.

Bob got a bad feeling in his chest and Brian didn’t look much better, losing the easy, relaxed look from before and putting his game face on.

Patrick came out of the alley, obviously having been waiting. He motioned them over with a quick look at the station, cautious and almost hostile. That was enough to get them both moving to the alley with him, because when Patrick Stump-Wentz looked upset, something was wrong.

“There’s a man from the city in there.” Patrick mumbled when they got to the shadows, “He says he’s been sent to fill in the Sheriff vacancy.”  
“There isn’t a vacancy.” Brian protested, a little too loudly, “Bob’s the Sheriff.”  
“Temporary,” Bob reminded them slowly. He’d almost forgotten. He’d started calling everything _his_ , and completely stopped thinking about how his ownership of the safety of Northern Downpour, unwanted when it had been given to him, but now something he didn’t know if he could give up, had come with an expiration date.

“That was before.” Brian said firmly.  
“Before what?” Bob frowned, not sure how to feel. He had a life in Chicago. He’d nearly forgotten about it, not much of a life as it was, but still something to go back to. His parents, for all that he only rarely saw them, a semi-thriving bounty hunting business since Chicago was never short on wanted criminals. An apartment he’d stopped making payments on weeks ago.

“Before you started actually giving a shit.” Brian snapped, “This is your town now, Bob.”  
“Brian,” Patrick started, “Brian, Bob’s got to make his own decision. This isn’t something we can just force on him. He only came to help us with Pedicone, and he’s done above and beyond that. He’s got a life back in Chicago.”  
And it obviously pained Patrick to say it, because he wanted Bob in Downpour just as much as Brian did, but Bob still loved him for being able to say it.

“He’s got a life _here_.” Brian turned to Bob, looking just a little bit desperate. Bob remembered the feeling of their fingers pressed together, a hint at the closeness they might get to share one day if he stayed. He remembered the men in Chicago, the women and the bars and the drinks, the nights he couldn’t remember because of all of those things.

“I need to talk to Grant,” Bob finally settled on. He couldn’t think straight. The day had been so normal, his new normal, and the car, the replacement, Brian’s sudden emoting of feelings he and Bob had been keeping quiet for a while now, it was throwing him off, too much.  
“He’s in there with Mister...whatever his name was.” Patrick pulled a face, still looking nowhere near welcoming.  
“Come on, then.” Brian snapped, turning away. Bob wanted to catch him, tell him how he was feeling, but he didn’t have the words, and Patrick was right there, giving them a knowing look. A look Bob really couldn’t handle from Patrick, of all people. So he stayed quiet, and followed Brian into the station. Inside was icy.

Frank and Dewees, even Poison, they were all settled behind the main desk, blank faced and not a smile even hinting where it usually did on either Frank or Poison. Parade set ramrod straight next to Frank, Sorrow curled around her like a snake, looking spooked and uncertain. Next to Poison, on either side, were his companions, silent and staring at the stranger in their midst. Grant stood next to him, the only welcoming expression in the room, the same smile he’d given Bob their first meeting. Bob knew what his actual smile looked like now, and he wasn’t sure how to respond, how to feel about the sudden animosity towards someone who they’d always known would come. He felt almost selfish thinking it was because they didn’t want to replace Bob, but at the same time, that explanation was looking more and more likely and he didn’t quite know how to form the words he could feel in his stomach.  
“Ah, Sheriff Bryar. This is Officer Flowers. Officer Flowers, the current Sheriff of Northern Downpour.”  
“Howdy,” Flowers nodded at Bob, giving him a friendly grin. Bob nodded back, weakly.

“Nice to meet you,” He finally settled on, lying through his teeth. “I hear you’ve come to replace me?”  
“Something like that,” Flowers agreed, looking apologetic. Bob didn’t think he was a bad guy, not really. But Korse would chew him up and spit him out without remorse, let alone what his own deputies would do to him if they took a dislike to him. First impressions were important and Bob could tell that Flowers had made a bad one just by showing up.

“Well,” Brian started, but Patrick cleared his throat and Brian threw his hands up and left the room, disappearing behind the newly furnished door. He didn’t slam it shut though, and that stood out to Bob. Brian was frustrated. Brian might have been a little scared even, at the thought of maybe losing whatever he and Bob were slowly but surely cultivating. Brian was angry. But Brian still wanted to know what Bob would do, still wanted to hear.

“Well.” Bob echoed Brian, wetting his lips. He glanced at Grant, but Grant wasn’t giving anything away. If Bob was going to do this, he was going to have to make the first effort himself.

“Well, see,” He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and stopped being a fucking child. “I’m sorry, Officer Flowers, but it kind of looks like you’ll have to pry this badge from my cold fingers. At least, until Pedicone is caught. I made a promise, after all.”  
“I’m sorry?” Flowers frowned, losing a little of his friendliness, “I must have misunderstood. I’ve traveled a long way to be here, because the city said that this town needed a Sheriff and I was the only one qualified for the job. I thought you were only temporary, until a new Sheriff could be found.”  
“It started out that way,” Bob agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets. The silver star gleamed on his chest, polished and clean. “But it’s changed. If Mayor Morrison’s willin’, of course, I’d like to stay here as Sheriff.”  
“You’re always welcome here, Sheriff Bryar.” Grant finally spoke up, nodding his head, “Of course, apologizes will have to be made to Officer Flowers here. He really did travel quite a ways.”  
“I know the feeling.” Bob acknowledged, “Sorry you came down for nothing, Officer.”  
“I.” Flowers started, looking a little confused and a little angry, “I.”

“Come with me, Officer,” Grant cut in smoothly, giving Bob an amused, pleased look as he swept past with Flowers in toe, “I’ll show you to the hotel. It’s quite nice. A free night, on me, for your troubles.”  
Flowers and Grant were soon both gone, leaving the station in a hollow silence.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Bob.” Frank finally stood up, looking nearly exhausted with relief, “I almost thought you were gone for a minute there.”  
“I was collecting my thoughts. We come back from checking the water supply to see some car and then Patrick is telling me I’m getting kicked out of the job. It was all very confusing.”  
“That is not what I said!” Patrick protested, but his voice was thin with relief, too, and Bob hugged him.  
“I’m not going anywhere.” He announced, “Not unless you drag me out.”

Parade made a chirring noise, smoke billowing from her mouth and spike holes.

“I know, I know,” Dewees agreed, “You and I never doubted for a second. These assholes, no faith, I tell ya’.”  
“Shut up,” Poison muttered, “It was a hard choice to make. Bob’s got a life in Chicago.”  
“People keep saying that,” Bob finally said, “But, I mean...not really. Before I came here, I was living bounty to bounty in a shithole apartment filled with meaningless things. My best friends were gone, my family was always too busy doing high class politic things. It wasn’t much of a life, not compared to what I found here.”  
“You’re gonna make me cry,” Frank sniffed, teasing. Bob rolled his eyes at him, but it was true. His life in Chicago...It was meaningless when compared to what he found here. He had Patrick and Pete back, friends who cared for him and who he care for, who cared about Parade and had companions of their own for her to socialize with. A steady job he enjoyed, a safe and permanent place to stay, free meals most of the week and reduced charge the rest of the time, a community he loved and who accepted him. Brian.

Brian stood in his doorway, newly returned from his tantrum, looking at Bob with an expression Bob had never seen before. Bob didn’t mind it. Wanted to bask in it almost. Even Patrick, wrapped in Bob’s arms like he was, couldn’t hold Bob’s attention when Brian was looking at him like that.

“Hey,” Poison brought him back to attention, away from Brian, “Now that you mention, how’d the water test?”  
“Tainted.” Brian answered, finally looking away from Bob. “We were just coming to send you and your companions to see if you could find what’s up with the water supply, when…”  
“No problem,” Poison stood up, scratching at Bullets’ head, “We’ll head down, be back in the morning with news.”  
"Let me go with you,” Frank volunteered, standing too, “What if it’s Pedicone?”  
“Then I’ll send Revenge or Bullets for backup,” Poison smiled at him, shrugging on his jacket, “Besides, you and Dewees are supposed to help out at the bar today and there’s no way we’ll make it there and back in time. With how jumpy Korse has gotten, two dragons in the sky is a sure fire way of getting shot down.”  
Frank sighed, looking both put out and put upon, “If you get yourself killed, I won’t be too happy with you, mister.”  
“And leave you? Who’d ever make a mistake like that? We’re getting married, remember? No escaping me, now.” Poison teased, making Frank’s face flush. Bob smirked at him and Frank sent him a clear ‘fuck you’ finger.

“You’re a sap.” Frank grumbled, but when Poison leaned down to kiss him goodbye, a ‘kiss for good luck’ he’d demanded, he didn’t even pretend to not enjoy it. Bob wondered if he’d ever look as happy as Frank did in Poison’s arms, or how Pete did when Patrick looked at him at all. His eyes found Brian, and he thought so.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Poison repeated, “Tell Mikey we’ve still got lunch plans, okay?”  
“I will,” Dewees promised solemnly, “As Frank will be busy, mourning your departure.”  
“I’ll never love again.” Frank agreed, “I’ll be the opposite of Gertrude, my king.”  
“You’re a fuckin’ dork.” Poison laughed, slapping Dewees’ hand as he passed him, “I’ll bring you news, Bob. You can count on me.”  
“I know,” Bob and Poison clasped hands, “That’s why we’re sending you. Knowing Iero and Dewees, they’d see something shiny and start talking about their lost career in show bis' until the whole town dried up.”

With that, Poison was gone, Revenge and Bullets breaking away from Parade and Sorrow to fold themselves around him like two fierce, dark knights. Revenge left a smoke trail behind her, curling around the doors of the station as they shuttered closed behind her tail.

“Now that the excitement is over,” Brian clapped, “Get back to work.”  
“Speaking of,” Patrick spoke up, patting Bob’s hand. Bob had almost forgotten that his arm was around Patrick’s shoulders, focused on Brian and then his Deputies. “I’ve left Toro and the twins long enough.”  
“Thanks for coming to warn us.” Bob mumbled, taking a step away to let Patrick have his space back.  
“Imagine poor Officer Flowers if Brian had come in without warning,” Patrick teased, looking between Bob and Brian with barely a flash of his eyes. He was waving before Bob, or Brian, could say anything, and out the door.

Dewees laughed and Brian snapped, “One of you needs to be on patrol fifteen minutes ago. Flowers, or no, this station doesn’t stop moving.”  
“Yes, Brian.” Frank saluted, standing up, “I’ll get right on that. You and Bob just get cozy.”  
“Iero-” Brian thundered and Frank skittered out of the station, his stupid hyena laugh following him along with Sorrow. Dewees looked between the two of them and opened his mouth.  
“Don’t.” Brian snapped and not even Bob would stand up against that look. Dewees shut his mouth with a click of teeth.

But it was Dewees so he couldn’t help but open it again not a second later.

“You’d better be careful, Brian. If you steal Bob’s heart, he’ll have to make a cardiac arrest. He is the sheriff, after all.”  
When he ducked out of the building, he just barely dodged the law book hurled after him.

Bob was laughing just a little too hard, really, for how corny the joke was, but he couldn’t miss Brian’s flushed cheeks. Angry eyebrows and malice had never been so attractive.

“Shut up, Bryar.” Brian scowled at him, but it just made Bob smile. He could have given this up. Just before he’d gone into the station, for a few seconds, he’d actually thought about handing over the reins, letting Officer Flowers have at it because it was hard, shouldering the responsibility of keeping these people safe. Because it was hard and difficult and to have it, Bob would have to fight for it, and Bob had never fought for anything a day in his life. He’d never tried to win Patrick’s affections, never tried to get his family’s attention, he’d never fought for a place in the system in Chicago, never done a thing to keep something if it didn’t fall into his lap. But this, Northern Downpour, the position as Sheriff, his place with Pete and Patrick. Brian. It was worth a fight, worth so much more than what he’d ever given anything else.

“I haven’t arrested you yet, Schechter.” Bob finally said, still smiling, still feeling the same light feeling in his chest he’d felt from the moment Brian’s cheeks had gone pink.

“Shut up, Bryar.” Brian said again, but he was smiling a little bit, too, and his voice was softer, not near as harsh. Bob tried to pinpoint just when that voice had started to make his stomach flip, and the farthest back he could remember was the day of the fire when Brian had confronted him over Patrick. That night going over budgets, and the nights after with the two of them sitting together, quietly or talking about anything, from their childhoods to their not so distant paths. The patrols together, the in-jokes they could never tell another soul because they were told through motions, expressions and mannerisms that were only between the two of them. Bob had never thought he’d be able to find something he’d love as much as he loved Patrick, barring Parade, but, somehow, he’d been lucky enough to be wrong. He hadn’t known Brian near as long as Patrick, but Brian made him feel...more than anyone had before. Happier than he’d ever felt when he thought of Patrick as more than his best friend. Brian made him happy and Bob had never thought he’d be able to find that in another human being. Had never thought he'd want to try to have something with another person like he did with Brian. He wanted Brian for himself.

“Brian.” Bob cleared his throat, standing up straight. Parade looked him over from where she’d perched herself in front of the desk, appraising, like she knew he’d finally built up the courage to say what he’d wanted to say for a while. “Can I talk to you?”  
“About what?”  
“Uh,” Bob cleared his throat, “Maybe we could have this conversation in the back room?”  
Brian raised an eyebrow but he motioned Bob into his domain and closed the door behind them once Bob had walked past, Parade staying in front to keep watch.  
“Bob, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Bob shook his head, “It’s...it’s the opposite, actually. There’s something I want to get off my chest. Can I do that?”

Brian settled against his desk, facing Bob, and nodded. “Be my guest.”

Bob cleared his throat and straightened the pink bandana on his belt, faded after the weeks of use, but still the same one Patrick had given him on his first day. Parade still wore her's proudly, sewn in a few places, but mostly whole.

“I’m not the most forward of men.”  
“You could say that again.” Brian teased, looking at Bob fondly. It made Bob feel like Brian always made him feel - warm.

“And I have a hard time fighting for what I want. I always thought...if it didn’t come easy, it wasn’t meant for me, you know? If...if God, or the universe wanted me to, if I was meant to have whatever it was, then I’d have it. And if I wasn’t meant to have it, then I wouldn’t. I lost a lot that way. A chance at friendships and relationships with people I could have had so much more with if I’d fought for it.”  
Brian swallowed, looking a little nervous, a little bit hopeful. It made Bob feel more confident, a little smug that he was the one to say it out loud, to acknowledge whatever had been growing between the two of them for weeks and weeks now, since that fire. Brian, Bob had come to understand, was as on guard about his emotions as Bob was. He was prickly and headstrong, straightforward and hard to please, downright rude in his worst moods with a fiery temper to match. But he was also kind, in a rough-around-the-edges way, and loyal. He cared about his friends with an intensity that Bob had never seen before and would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He wasn’t sweet, wasn’t someone to give into passions without thought, wasn’t a whirlwind romance in the works. Brian was a steady river, cool and there when Bob had thought he’d never find water in the middle of the desert. He’d become one of Bob’s best friends, someone Bob trusted with not only himself, but with Parade, and someone Bob cared for deeply.

“Like Patrick.” Brian finally offered, his voice tinged with something that sounded just a little like jealousy.  
“Maybe,” Bob agreed, “I’ll never know. My time with him, it never happened. It wasn’t meant to, or I just valued our friendship too much to risk it. I don’t know. I just know...as much as I love Patrick, I don’t...I don’t want to be with him. I never wanted to be with him. But here...I never expected to…”  
He waved his hand, “This is coming out wrong. What I’m trying to say is,”

Brian nodded, motioning for him to go on when Bob didn’t continue after a few seconds.

“What I’m trying to say is that you…” Bob felt his face heat up and he rubbed his cheek, gloves against white-blond stubble, “You make me feel...warm. Happy. Do you get what I’m saying?”  
“I...think so?” Brian tried, sounding uncertain. But his smile was growing, bigger with each passing second, bright in the dim of the room.

“What I’m trying to say is that, is that I…” Bob cleared his throat, wondered if he actually looked and sounded as awkward as he felt.

“You?” Brian continued for him, but he was grinning and Bob just knew he was being fucked with.  
“Fuck you,” He groaned, hiding his face in his hands, “You know what I’m trying to say.”  
“Yeah,” Brian nodded, “I do.”  
“Fuck you,” Bob groaned again, dragging his ‘you’ out to show his true frustration. Brian laughed, loud and happy in the small room, and he stood up from the desk, stepping into Bob’s space. Bob’s hands hovered, fingers squeezing into fists before Brian’s hands found his, slipped his gloves off so their skin was touching. Brian’s hands were warm, rough and worn from use.  
“You make me feel warm, too.” He said quietly, and it was like the room had shrunk until it was just them, the two of them, alone with nothing else around them. Intense, maybe, more than Bob had ever thought he’d feel in a single moment. When Brian leaned up and Bob leaned down, there was a single moment, a single pause, in which Bob was so fucking scared, more scared than he’d ever been in any shoot out, any bar fight or situation involving dangerous, wanted men, scared that he’d fuck up and lose this before he’d even had it, scared Brian would come to his senses and realize how terrible Bob could be when he wasn’t paying careful attention to himself and his actions, how flaky and fucking terrified of commitment he was. When Brian kissed him, lips as rough as his fingers and just as warm, as sun blessed as the rest of him, that fear disappeared and all Bob felt was safe.

-

Bob woke up the next morning to the familiar view of Brian in his bed. This time, though, Brian was a lot more naked, and a lot more willing to make out with him in bed before they made a shitty breakfast consisting of burnt toast and last night’s coffee. Parade gave them smug looks every time they came into her view from her favorite sunspot, sprawled out across the newly installed floor of the kitchen.

“Don’t start,” Bob warned her, dropping her share of toast onto a plate for her. She just preened at him until Brian scratched her horns into a state of bliss.

They ate in silence together. Morning afters' had never been a favorite of Bob’s, especially when they were with people who didn’t know they needed to leave. The morning after with Brian, though, was enjoyable and the silence was comfortable, the two of them enjoying the company and the many, many aches in their bodies from the night before. Bob’s hips and thighs ached like they hadn’t since the first night he’d come into town, and he knew he was bruised from hips to knees, knew there were marks just below his collar, from Brian’s teeth and lips. He’d left his own marks, though, and he couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed Brian leaving his little claims, either. Brian was a possessive lover, and Bob could see himself enjoying more of that in the future. It was nice, to be the one someone else cared so much about as to leave marks like the ones littering his neck and shoulders.

“So, last night,” Brian started, once breakfast had been cleared up and they were redressing for the day, in clothes that weren’t the same as the day before. It was going to be obvious, what they’d done, but they didn’t want to make it so obvious that even Carden would notice when he came by with lunch.

“It was good.” Bob finished lamely, not sure what else to say. It had been good. He wanted to do it again, and again, and then, maybe, again - for as long as Brian would let him.  
“It was.” Brian nodded, a smile twitching at his lips. Bob hadn’t seen him smile so much in the same hour, ever, and it left him feeling pleased with himself for being the cause of that.  
“Maybe good enough to do again.” Bob shrugged, going for nonchalant.

“Maybe?” Brian raised an eyebrow, voice bone fucking dry and amused.

“Maybe.” Bob nodded, face serious, “I mean, we work together, Schechter. What would the town say?”  
“They’d say: ‘About damn time’.” Brian smirked, stepping into Bob’s space until he had him pressed against the door of his bedroom. Bob had expected it, without thinking about it much, the way Brian dominated. He’d expected it, but it had still come as a surprise when Brian had pinned him to the bed, holding him down with his weight so he could do whatever he wanted to Bob. The tattoos Bob had finally gotten to explore were still uncovered, Brian not having moved to put a shirt on yet, and Bob couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

“Maybe,” Bob finally got out, tongue dry, “Wouldn’t want to be the talk of the town.”  
“You’re probably right.” Brian hummed innocently, taking a hold of the tie hanging from Bob’s door hook from the last time he’d had to wear his suit three weeks ago and sliding it over Bob’s neck. Bob didn’t do anything, just tilted his head back as Brian tied the strip of fabric loosely. When it was tied correctly, Brian wrapped the tail of the fabric around his fist until the knot was pressed against Bob’s throat. He used it to bring Bob down to his level, and Bob was breathing erratically by the time their lips were brushing together in something not quite a kiss.

“I mean,” Brian smiled, and it was dangerous, the way it made Bob’s knees go weak. Bob pressed his fingers against Brian’s hips but found his hands being pushed back against the door, palms flat against the cool wood. He held back the gasp, but only just barely. “If they saw their Sheriff like this, they would talk. Wouldn’t they, Bob?”  
Bob’s eyes were heavy, but he didn’t want to close them, to take Brian’s smirk out of his sight. It was doing strange things to his body, making his muscles feel like jelly. The tie was tight, almost too tight, but it was making Bob hard and Brian could tell because he tightened his fist, pulled Bob into a crushing kiss that stole the gasp right out of Bob’s throat. It was over too fast for Bob, and he tried to pull Brian back but his hands were pressed back into the door again.

“Wouldn’t they, Bob?” Brian repeated himself, sounding like he wanted an answer. Bob couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say.

“Yes?” He tried, hoping it was right.

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Brian said gently, and the tie loosened. Bob made a noise, disagreeing and then swallowed when Brian’s eyes went dark. “We would?”  
The tie tightened and Bob nodded, anything to get Brian’s lips back against his. There was a knee pressed to his groin, lightly, and Bob lost his voice, toes curling as he pressed against it, used it for relief.

“So, what do you think, Bob?” Brian pressed forward, until it wasn’t just his knee pressed against Bob, but the rest of him, his own hardness pressed to Bob’s through their jeans.

“Th-think?” Bob got out, throat working around some invisible force to get the words out. He rolled his hips and Brian met him halfway, stars in Bob’s eyes.

“Would another round with me be worth the town gossip?”

Brian’s hand snuck into Bob’s jeans, into his briefs, gripping him tight and hot. Bob couldn’t get another word out, could just gasp out loud and roll his hips into Brian’s hand, into the pumping motion. Brian stopped moving his hand, though, stopped moving at all, pinned Bob’s hips with his own. “Well, Bob? Answer the question.”  
“‘c-can’t,” Bob managed, “Can’t remember the question, Brian.”  
“Would,” Brian pressed a kiss against Bob’s cheek, “Another,” a kiss to his temple, “Round,” his hand tightened, making Bob cry out, “With me,” his hand slid from tip to base and back, “Be worth,” another kiss, to Bob’s bottom lip, “the town,” a kiss to his top lip, “gossip, Bob?”

“Yes!” Bob shouted, slamming his head back against the door when Brian’s hand sped up, faster and tighter and rougher until Bob was near sobbing, rocking his hips desperately into Brian’s teasing fingers, the twinges of his beck and ass only adding to the pleasure running through his blood. He felt like he was going to explode.

The tie got tighter, tighter, Bob could barely breathe and it was _fucking_ amazing, the most intense feeling Bob had ever had before that wasn’t an orgasm, the silk of the tie smooth and cutting against his throat, Brian’s fingers against his Adam’s apple, the knot pressing closer and closer. By the time he came, his eyes were blurry, barely enough air in his lungs to keep him alive. When he came too, his fingers were clinging into Brian’s arms and he was shaking, sitting on the floor, tie on the ground next to him and Brian smirking in front of him.  
“Good?”  
“Shit,” Bob got out, not quite sure if he was seeing straight, “Sh-shit, Brian.”  
“Yep.” Brian nodded, wiping his hand on Bob’s jeans. Bob didn’t even care because _shit_ , that had been amazing.

“Did you?” Bob blinked at him hazily, reaching for him without thinking. Brian smiled, and it was different from before, gentle and - dare Bob say? - loving. He leaned up, kissed Bob while his sure fingers led Bob’s clumsy hand into his pants, unbuttoned and unzipped, pulled around his thighs so Bob’s wrist wasn’t twisted strangely when he wrapped his hand around Brian’s cock. They worked together to get Brian off, Bob too orgasm-stupid and Brian too impatient to wait for his senses to come back, and when he came, he kissed Bob again, breathing hard through his nose and biting into Bob’s lip in a way Bob really, really liked.

By the time they’d cleaned up and dressed, the sun was bright in the sky and they were two hours late for work. When they came in through the back room, the closest entrance from the stairway leading from Bob’s front door to the downstairs area, Dewees was the only one in the building, Sorrow wrapped around his legs while he did paperwork.

“You two did not.” Was the first thing he said upon sighting them.  
“No.” Brian denied, but there was no stopping Dewees and Bob realized too late that there was a hickey high enough on Brian’s neck to be seen above his suit shirt.

“You did!” Dewees shouted, standing up. Sorrow lifted her head sleepily, staring at them with daggers in her eyes for awakening her nap spot. Parade sauntered in behind them, tails and neck high, and Dewees started to laugh. “You assholes fucked!”  
“Shut up, Dewees.” Brian snapped, and the way his hand twitched for the law books made Bob nervous. Bob touched Brian’s hand, light and careful, and Brian looked at him, looked him over, and sighed loudly, sounding put upon. No law books were thrown.

“Where’s Frank?” Bob asked, looking around. Frank was small, but he was a hard to miss fucker.

“Mikey called him a while ago. You two are really late.”  
“We were busy.” Brian said, and no way could Dewees misconstrue the smirk on his face.

“Shit, guys,” Dewees laughed again, but it was more surprised this time, pleased. “You finally got your shit together.”  
Brian glanced at Bob and Bob realized, too late, that he was smiling and Brian could see it.

“Yeah,” Brian grinned, “Yeah, we did.”

“Oh, you two are going to rot my teeth out.” Dewees wrinkled his nose, “Why is every couple in this fucking town so God damned cute?”

“Say that to my face, asshole.” Bob grumbled, trying to look stoic. He knew he failed when even Parade huffed smoke at him in amusement.

“Not you too, sweetheart,” He frowned at her, “You’re supposed to be on my side.”  
She flicked her tail at him and he rolled his eyes, scrubbing at her face until she was purring.

“I’ve got work to do.” Brian sighed, “Don’t do anything stupid.”  
“It’s a lazy day,” Bob promised, “Just sitting around until Poison gets back. Where is he, anyway?”  
“He was supposed to be back by morning,” Dewees shrugged, “It’s just past noon, now, so he’s due back anytime.”

“Strange,” Brian frowned, “He’s never been late, before. Revenge or Bullets show up?”  
“Nope,” Dewees shook his head, “Nothing.”

“We’ll keep an eye out.” Bob settled into his chair, tried not to wince, and pulled his own paperwork closer to start. He had a week’s worth of reports to file if he didn’t want Brian breathing down his neck for all the wrong reasons.

Brian made a noise of agreement and disappeared into the backroom to do his own work, stuff for the city’s annual reports and some legal paperwork from Pete for Grant, and Dewees went back to his part of the 'U' desk while Parade settled against Bob’s leg, laying down with her ears perked for anything. He looked her over instead of his work. It had been a while since it was just the two of them, something that used to be more common than not, with the two of them going days at a time with little to no contact with other living beings. Now, more often than not, he was with Patrick or Brian or one of the Deputies, in the bar or hanging out with someone for dinner, with her by his side or with the twins. Folie and Duex had become a deep love of her’s and she and Corktree had taken to parenting them like none of the other dragons had. Graves and Infinity were sent over with, first, milk, and then fresh meat for them to feast on but it would be Parade or Corktree to feed them when Patrick wasn’t around to do it. They hadn’t burn anything down yet, possibly because they were both pretty level for such young dragons, let alone Naga, but Poison was sure that it wouldn’t be too long before there was an accident. Parade was always at the ready, just in case she was needed. Both of them being on call all the time, it was a little difficult for them to escape and just be together for a while. She’d stopped wearing things to strap her wings down and they were looking stronger. Maybe enough to fly a short distance by herself, to his surprise, though not while supporting Bob or probably even Frank. They were good enough to look more healthy and get Doctor McCoy to stop giving her worried looks every time she stretched them for her weekly checkups, and that was all either of them had really wanted.

She looked up at him from her spot in the sun, blue and bluer against the shiny black of her face, and he loved her intensely, could never have made it anywhere without her at his side, let alone to where he was now. She huffed at him, smoke rising from her horns, and he smiled at her, feeling happy and almost giddy. Everything was calm in the station, paperwork and his dragon at his side, his...Brian in the back of the station, safe and doing his own paperwork, his town quiet and peaceful.

He knew it wouldn’t last, but he hadn’t thought the trouble would start two minutes after he’d given the thought room in his head to form.

The doors swung in for Frank, hurrying inside with Mikey at his side.

“Bob, there’s a problem.” Frank said immediately, voice just troubled enough for Bob to look up from what he was doing.

“What’s wrong?” Bob asked, setting his pen down to give Frank his full attention. Frank was one for overdramatics, but he’d never looked so...distraught, before. Scared.

“Poison isn’t back yet.” Mikey said, fidgeting nervously with his hat. Bob frowned.

“He’s probably still at the source of the well, or coming home, now. It’s only noon, guys.”  
“You don’t understand,” Frank protested, “He had lunch with Mikey, Bob.”  
“He’s never missed a lunch a day in his life,” Mikey said determinedly, “I know somethings wrong. He would have sent Bullets or Revenge if something were holding him up. These lunches are _important_ , Bob.”

And by ‘important’, he meant they had to do with Korse.

Bob got a bad feeling, and, as of yet, he’d never been wrong about those.

“Are you _sure_?” he asked, just to confirm. Frank nodded, twisting his fingers together.

“We wouldn’t have bothered you if we weren’t.” Frank promised, “This is more than just going off someplace for a few days because it’s getting too much. He’s never missed lunch before, not even when he was on the run.”

“Shit,” Bob sighed, standing up. He should have known that, after such a great night, he would have to deal with something extra horrid to make up for it.

“Brian?” he called, just knowing he’d be breaking that promise to stay out of trouble. If something was wrong with Party Poison, Bob doubted he’d have much better luck dealing with whatever it was. Poison was a lot of things, but an incompetent lawman wasn’t one of them for all that he was an outlaw on the side.

“Don’t tell me.” Brian said when he appeared in the doorway, looking unamused, “Something’s wrong and you’ve gotta go fix it.”  
“Nailed it.” Dewees nodded, “Poison is missing. Frank and Mikey think something’s wrong.”  
“Something is wrong,” Mikey insisted, “He’d never miss a lunch with me.”

Brian looked him over, judging for himself and Bob waited patiently. If Brian said nothing was wrong, Bob wouldn’t be so worried. When Brian’s eyebrows creased, Bob let out a loud sigh.

“Okay. Parade, Frank, you’re with me.”

“We’re going to.” Dewees stood, Sorrow awkwardly getting to her feet. She was still timid, after all this time. Bob couldn’t even imagine putting her in a dangerous situation, and he couldn’t imagine she’d stay in the station, for all her fears, when both her companions were in danger.

“No,” Bob shook his head, “If it’s holding up Poison, it’s something big. I need you and Brian and Sorrow here to protect the town.”  
“What if you need help?”

“I’ll send Parade back,” Bob straightened his holster, fixed his vest and tied the bandana around his neck. He’d have to hope that his ass could take Parade’s gait for a few hours. The source of the well was miles out, a few minutes flight but half a day’s journey on dragon-back, beginning at the mouth of the mines that had once been the breadwinner of the Morrison fortune before the ranch had been opened. They were closed now, the stream running through them having flooded a few of them when the dam had partially broken years and years ago.

“That’s what Poison said, and now look where we are.” Brian frowned, walking over to him and fixing the Sheriff’s star on his chest. Bob leaned down without thought and kissed him. Really, he was lucky Brian kissed back instead of hitting him for affections in the workplace. Bob really couldn’t help it though. He’d tasted what it was like to be with Brian and, now, he couldn’t imagine giving it up. Maybe he hadn’t been able to say it, but it was true, how he felt about Brian. One day, he’d be able to say it out loud, to Brian and anyone who would listen.  
“I’ll be fine.” Bob promised him quietly, “I’ll come back. I won’t break this one.”  
“I know.” Brian cleared his throat, dropped his voice, “This is your job. I know. You’ll be back.”  
“Watch out for Pedicone.” Bob said, raising his voice so Dewees could hear him. “If he comes into town, get everyone together. The dragons have all been training, Parade’s shown most of them how to do the fire trick, so it should be enough to scare them off.”  
“We will.” Dewees nodded, his arm around Frank, “Be careful, you guys. Watch their backs, Parade.”  
Parade huffed at him, her tail moving slowly back and forth along the ground, sweeping against the wood.

“We’ll stop by Patrick’s, get some supplies. I’ll send Parade back with Frank once I’ve found Poison, Revenge, and Bullets, since she can run faster with a smaller person on her.”  
“Fuck you.” Frank gave him the finger, still looking nervous, but relieved that they would be doing something, “I’m not that small.”  
Bob smirked at him, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, Frank. Size doesn’t matter.”  
“Oh, you better watch out, Bryar.” Frank took a theatrical fighting stance, “The two of us are about to throw down.”  
Bob laughed at him, “Go get the supplies, Deputy Iero.”  
Frank flipped him off again as he walked out the door to do so.

“You will be careful.” Brian ordered, “I know you like to play the hero, Bryar.”  
“I will be.” Bob agreed, smiling again. He knew he looked stupid, but he couldn’t really help himself. When Frank got back and had said goodbye to Sorrow, when Mikey had promised Bob that Poison’s gang would be watching out for Pedicone until they were all returned, they set off to go see what was holding Poison up.

They took turns riding on Parade’s back while she acted like she couldn’t care less. For the first few hours, it was for the best that Frank took his turn. Walking wasn’t difficult but Bob didn’t want to think about being on Parade’s back until the soreness had faded.

“So, you think it’s something bad?” Frank asked him, hours into their travels. Parade was practically sleepwalking, not quite paying attention to where her feet fell while she rested and walked. Bob watched for her, gently led her from one place to another one so she could avoid holes in the ground or uneven places.

“Whatever it is, it’s serious enough to hold up not only Poison, but Revenge and Bullets, too. I can’t imagine Bullets willingly staying so far from his mate for so long.”  
“I was hoping you’d say, ‘He’s just being a dick’, and leave it at that.” Frank said despondently. He tugged at the ring on his finger, pressed it to his lips and sighed quietly against the metal.

“He’s just being a dick.” Bob said dutifully, patting Frank’s knee. “Seriously, Frank. He’ll be okay. I mean, it’s Party Poison. He wouldn’t be gone without a good reason.”  
Frank was quiet and they fell back into a silence, not uncomfortable, but tense. Frank practically radiated worry and Bob wasn’t sure how to make it better without producing Poison from his pocket. Downpour wasn’t exactly dangerous, wasn’t exactly a place where everyone locked their doors, because everyone knew everyone and, usually, everyone was sleeping at everyone else’s house. But Pedicone had cast a shadow, long and dark and making Korse’s ever-watching eyes even worse. The fire, weeks ago now but still fresh on everyone’s mind, had almost been Downpour’s downfall. Bob hadn’t understood, at the time, how close that fire had come to snuffing out the whole town. Sure, Pete had told him that all Korse needed was the police station to burn to the ground for the deed of the town to revert to the Morrisons’, but with his decision to stay, to open himself up to Brian and the town, to settle down and grow roots...It was, literally, hitting home how fragile the town was, how unsafe it was with Korse in the picture.

When they found Poison, before they came home, they would have to get that pile of evidence. Korse had to leave before Bob’s new home could be safe.

They switched places an hour later, when Bob’s feet were beginning to ache and Frank was beginning to get too restless on Parade’s back. Parade drank heavily from the bag Frank had carried for her and ate the wrapped meat Bob had been holding on to and they both snuck small rations of their own to keep their energy up. The sun was hot over their heads, burning the sand at their feet. Bob wet the bandana around Parade’s neck and wrapped it around her head, kept her eyes and nose clear but let the sopping wet bandana leak lukewarm water along her scales to cool her down.

They were on the last leg of their journey when Frank spoke again, so close that Bob could taste the moisture from the stream and the sand was beginning to meld into grainy dirt.

“We were thinking about having the wedding, soon.”

Bob looked up from Parade’s hot scales, where he’d been slowly running his wet bandana along her shoulders, letting her soak up the water since they would soon refill from the stream, even if it made them sick later. “I thought Poison wanted to wait until Korse…”  
“He did, at first. But being together, not always on the run while I’m still in the town. Being around Mikey and his friends...He’s ready, and so am I. We wanted to have it next weekend. Bert said he would do the ceremony and Pete is getting the paperwork together.”  
“Frank, that’s great.” Bob smiled, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, “I’m glad for you guys.”  
“What if he’s dead, Bob?” Frank shuddered under his hand and Bob suddenly wondered just how long he’d been shaking. “You said it had to be something big, to keep him away. What if he’s dead? What if the reason Revenge and Bullets haven’t come back is because they’re fucking dead?”

Bob didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much he could say. The feeling in his gut hadn’t disappeared since Frank and Mikey had come into the station. It was only growing, the closer they got to the mines. He couldn’t promise Frank that they wouldn’t find his fiancé’s body when they got there. He couldn’t promise him anything.

“Do you trust Poison?” He finally asked, looking at Frank’s face, watched the emotions play across his features.

“Yes.” Frank finally admitted, sounding almost defeated.

“Then trust that he would do anything to get back to you and Mikey. That’s all you can do.”  
Frank found Bob’s hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, hard. Bob squeezed back, offered what comfort they could. Whatever the answer was, whatever had held Poison up, it would be revealed soon.

The sand had slowly given into dirt, into grass and small trees a few feet higher than Bob’s head on Parade’s back. The mines, and the source of the town’s main well, were located about a mile into the forested area, starting in a cave system that had been mined out for the coal inside of it. According to Brian, they continued for miles and miles, under Northern Downpour and beyond. Most of the tunnels were flooded but no one was sure just how many had drained or how many were traversable, having been abandoned when most of the country had moved onto steam and electricity.

They were close, less than half a mile from their intended destination when they came across a familiar mask. It was dirty, the yellow stained with dust and something Bob didn’t want to think about, the same color as Poison’s hair but infinitely less enjoyable to see.

“No.” Frank shoved away from Parade and dropped next to it, his fingers hovering over it, shaking, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch it or not. After a few moments’ time, he carefully laid his fingertips along the yellow and took a hitching breath, his shoulders going rigid. Bob kneeled next to him, looking the mask over for any other signs, any nearby tracks or trails. Parade was the first to hear them. She stopped moving completely, frozen mid-movement with her eyes going wide and her ears perking up, smoke beginning to curl from her horns and nostrils. Bob looked at her, at the way she was slowly dragging her eyes along the trees surrounding them.

“Frank, stay here.” He mumbled, pressing his fingers to Frank’s shoulder as he passed him. Parade didn’t follow him, standing guard over Frank while he silently took in Poison’s mask and the blood that could mean anything. He dropped his hat at her feet as he passed her, half to keep it safe and half to have something to bring back to Brian and Patrick if something happened to him.

He stayed low, tried not to make noise, watched every motion of his feet to avoid twigs that would announce his position. Eventually, he heard voices. Distant at first, but fast growing until he could understand words.

“...been almost twenty four hours, Mike. What’s the point if we kill him?”

“A dead Party Poison.” Pedicone’s familiar voice said clearly, echoed by the sound of a gun being loaded and cocked.  
“You think that’ll stop them?” Bob’s knees nearly gave out at the relief that coursed through him. Poison didn’t sound _good_ exactly, but he was _alive_ , and that was all Bob could ask for at the moment. “You think killing me will get them to stop chasing you? He’s caught your scent and taking me only made it easier to find you, Pedicone. When Bob gets his hands on you-”  
“He’ll have to catch me first.” Pedicone snapped, interrupting him. Poison scoffed and there was the sound of skin against barrel. Bob shifted until he could see, could get Poison and Pedicone and the stranger into his sight. Revenge and Bullets were tied down, wings and legs pinned with thick rope connected to what looked like metal muzzles locking their beaks closed. Poison was tied to a post, hands behind him and bloody face matching the greasy, red locks of his hair. He was beaten, bruised and his clothes were stained with sweat and blood, but he was _alive_. He also had a gun pointed at his forehead, a defiant smirk on his face as he looked into Pedicone’s angry scowl.

“Don’t,” The stranger yanked at Pedicone’s hand, “You know we need him.”  
“Need him? He won’t get us far.”

“He knows the mines, Mike. He’s fuckin’ lived in ‘em for years before that Sheriff made him a pet townie.”

“Fuck you,” Poison sneered at him, because he had zero survival instincts and Bob had no idea how he’d managed to survive so very long on his own. “I won’t take you a fuckin’ foot into those tunnels.”  
“You will,” The stranger laughed, sounding too smug for his own good, “You will, Poison. I don’t like hurting sweet, little things like that fiancé of yours, but what Korse promised us is a worth a lot more than his pretty head.”  
Poison yanked at his arms, lunged at the man only to be socked in the gut by Pedicone.

“You won’t get your filthy hands on him,” Poison gasped out, “He’s safe, away from here.”  
“Or maybe your brother.” The stranger continued, like Poison hadn’t spoken, “He’s pretty, too. Very tall. One of them will come after you, soon I’d say. They’re all stupidly brave in that town. Not really my style, but whatever works in our favor.”

Poison spit at him and gave him a bloody smirk when the saliva hit him in the eye. Pedicone slammed a fist into his stomach again and Poison doubled over, taking in a deep, hissing breath.

Bob grit his teeth and held his position. He still hadn’t seen Pedicone’ companion, didn’t know if the stranger had a companion with him at all. He was alone. He needed to turn around, get Frank and Parade before he got caught and his hat really did become a last goodbye to the people he cared about. But he couldn’t leave Poison, not having found him like this, with a fucking gun against his head every other second.  

“They won’t,” Poison got out, “They won’t come. You stupid _fucks_ , you think they won’t see right through this? That they’ll come running to me rescue when I’ve obviously been kidnapped or killed? Of course not, they’ll be fortifying the town by now. Even if you could, somehow, get me to take you through the tunnels - and you won’t, what would you even do? There’s no way into the town except for the entrance into the religious center and what the hell do you think you’ll do there? It’s filled with people all the time!”

Somehow, Bob had no idea how, but _somehow_ , Poison knew Bob was there. Poison knew Bob was there and that he needed to _not_ _be_ , that he needed to be in town, blocking off whatever entrance into the religious center that led into the minds to foil whatever fucking plans Pedicone and, apparently, Korse were cooking up. He should have guessed that they were involved with each other. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him.

“Exactly.” Pedicone holstered his gun and pulled a knife instead, roughly gripping Poison’s hair in his fist and yanking his head back to expose his throat. He pressed the blade of the knife against tanned skin until red bloomed along the edges. Bob clenched his fists together to stop himself from pulling his guns free. They had just said they needed Poison alive, to get them through the tunnels. It made sense that Poison would have stayed in the tunnels when he was hiding from the law, even that he was the one they would go after if they were working with Korse. “Come on, _Party Poison_ , let’s get moving.”  
“I told you-” Poison started, but a loud cry from close to Bob made both of them stop breathing.

Frank was shoved out of the trees only meters from Bob’s position, landing flat on his face in the dirt of the small sand circle leading into the caves. The stream nearby flowed freely, the gurgle of water covering whatever soft ‘oof’ he made, unable to catch himself with his hands tied tightly behind his back.

Poison didn’t say anything, not loud enough for Bob to hear him, but he saw the way Poison’s lips formed Frank’s name and a look of abject horror covered his face.

“Ah,” The stranger smiled, “There he is. Poison, I’m sure you’re familiar with Deputy Iero. Iero, you seem to have found the man you were looking for.”  
Frank shoved up onto his knees with the use of his shoulder, taking hard, gasping breaths. His chest rattled, even Bob could hear it, but he didn’t even seem to notice his own breathing predicament. “Poison.” He said with such relief that Bob felt it.

“Frank, what the hell are you doing here?”  
“Why do you think I’m here?” Frank rolled his eyes, “You missed lunch. Mikey and I were worried. I came after you.”  
“There was a dragon, the Sheriff’s.” The man who had brought Frank in said, shoving Frank back onto his stomach with a dusty boot, “But it ran off. Probably back to town. He’s probably around here somewhere.”  
“Not to worry, his dragon can’t fly.” The stranger shrugged with a polite smile, “By the time it gets back, it’ll be too late, and the Sheriff can’t do much on his own. Mike, if you’d be so kind, slit Deputy Iero’s throat.”  
Pedicone pulled the knife from Poison’s skin with a sick slide of blood and took a step towards Frank. Bob nearly stood, his hand falling to his gun without thought. Poison was one thing, Bob knew he could take care of himself and that he was needed for whatever they were doing. Frank was an entirely different thing, in that he was entirely unneeded, and Bob would be damned before they put a hand on his Deputy. Another of his Deputies.

“No!” Poison struggled against his bindings, “I’ll do it! I’ll take you through the tunnels! Just don’t-”  
“Mike,” The stranger said gently, still smiling. Pedicone stopped, the knife dropping to his side. “Say it again, Poison?”

“I said,” Poison spat, sounding defeated, “I’ll take you through the tunnels. Just don’t hurt him.”  
Frank muffled something into the dirt, struggling under the new man’s boot. Bob knew if he could get his hands free, Frank could take him - gun or no. Frank was a devil when he was angry, as Bob had seen the last time a cowboy had tried to get physical with him. But Frank _couldn’t_ get free, was stuck in his position until Bob figured something out. There was movement, silent but there, behind him, and Bob wrapped his fingers around the handle of his gun, reading himself to whirl around and confront the newcomer. Instead, the smell of smoke rolled through his nose and he relaxed as Parade rested her head on his shoulder, her bright eyes taking in the scene in front of them. They watched, together, as Poison was untied, a gun held steady towards Frank the whole while. Poison didn’t try to escape, dropping next to Frank and shoving his captor’s foot off of him so he could sit up.

“I thought-” Frank started, sounding choked up. Bob knew it was one hundred percent because of the bloody mask and exactly zero percent because he was being held hostage.

“I know,” Poison smiled shakily, running his hands over Frank’s face and hair. They were closer to Bob, close enough that he could hear them, could hope that Poison had some sort of message for him, some hint as to what they were planning. “I know, Frankie. Listen, Bob’ll fix this, okay? Just don’t do anything to get yourself killed and you’ll be alright.”  
“What about you?” Frank snapped, his arms straining against the ropes, “What are they trying to _do_ , Poison? Did they fuck with the water?”

“Yes,” Poison nodded, “To lead me here. They knew, whether I came first or came to find one of our missing people, that I’d show up. The poison will work its way out eventually, that’s not the problem.”  
“What is?” Frank lowered his voice, “What’s happening, Gee?”  
“They’re going to flood the town.” Poison pressed his mouth to Frank’s forehead, talking into his skin, “The mines are connected to the dam. If you follow one of them all the way to the end, it leads to a small canyon, near the base of the reservoir, that the guard don’t know about. Pedicone and Morris are going to make it look like there was a crack in the dam, like it was all an accident.”  
“They’re going to wipe Downpour off the map.” Frank finished for him, sounding a little dazed, “And everyone will be there. No one will get out and they’ll all…”  
“They’ll all drown. The dam will be fixed, the whole fucking town will be gone, let alone the last original buildings, along with everyone there. Grant will be there, Frank. The company, the land, the ranch and the fortune, it’ll all go to Korse.”  
“Korse.” Frank echoed, “Korse did this.”  
“You have to get away,” Poison hugged Frank, tight enough to bruise, but his eyes slid to Bob’s, for just a second. He closed his eyes though, broke the connection, and leaned his head against Frank’s, “You have to get away. Get the stash, you know where it is. Warn the town, somehow. Fucking arrest Korse Morrison and get everyone to safety.”

“What about you?” Frank asked, a little desperately.

“I’m dead, Frankie.” Poison smiled, pressed another kiss to Frank’s forehead and then his lips.  
“No.” Frank pressed back, shaking his head, “No, Gee, No,”

“Shh,” Poison hushed him, pressing Frank’s face to his shoulder, “It’s okay, Frankie. Once I take them to the canyon, they’ll kill me. But it’s okay. You’ll be okay, so it’s okay.”

Frank shook his head, and Bob could hear the tears coming almost before he saw them by the way Frank’s breath started to hitch and rattle with each gasping intake.

Bob closed his eyes, gave them their moment. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to turn around, get on Parade, and run as fast as they’d ever run before, back to Downpour, back to before any of this, when he’d been in Korse’s home and had a gun on his hip and no one to stop him from ending it all. He’d never make it in time, might get there with a few minutes to tell everyone that their doom was approaching. Maybe he could tell Korse where his precious Naga were, see if that would stop the flood. But Korse was even farther away than Downpour. He was fucked. His eyes slid to Revenge and Bullets.

Not if he could fly. If he could fly, he’d be there in minutes. If he could get Frank on one of those dragons, the trip would be even shorter - less weight, more speed. It wouldn’t save the town, but it would save all the people, if they moved fast. And with Korse behind bars, they could always rebuild.  

“Why!?” Frank shouted, struggling hard enough to hurt himself, “Why are they doing this!? What does Korse want so badly with that fucking piece of land!?”  
Poison cupped his face, delicate and loving and Bob’s breathe caught because all he could see was Patrick’s face when he found out that Bob hadn’t been able to save the town. Brian’s face.  “Why does Korse do anything, baby? Money. He found oil reserves, right under the fucking town.”

“That’s quite enough, Poison.” The stranger, had to be the Morris that Poison mentioned, grabbed Poison by the hair again and yanked at him until he was physically pulled from Frank by the roots of his hair. Frank shouted, tried to go after them, but the man from before shoved him down again. The gun didn’t make a reappearance but Poison didn’t try to escape, gripping Morris’ fist to try to reduce the pressure on his head.

“Boys, get the boxes!” Pedicone called and the small group of men who’d been sitting in the mouth of the cave all stood up and began milling around, strapping the boxes they’d been using as seats to their backs with rope and pulling apart the small camp. One turned their boxed back to Bob and he saw the red paint, stamped across the side in the shape of the word ‘EXPLOSIVE’.

No fire then. He clenched the small coal poach in his belt closed tighter. Parade trembled against him, her muscles bunched and ready to attack. Bob pressed his hand against her head, paused. He waited for the right moment.

Morris dragged Poison across the sand by his hair, and he and Pedicone changed places. Where Morris had been efficient, not touching Poison more than he needed to, Pedicone was unnecessarily rough, shaking Poison back and forth a few times just to discombobulate him. Morris came close to Bob’s hiding place and Bob held his breath. Parade stood behind him, tense but silent.

“When we leave,” Morris said quietly, stopping so close to Bob that he could smell Morris’ sweat, “Kill him.”  
His man nodded, pressing the heel of his boot harder against Frank’s back, his balance just a little thrown off by Frank’s struggling.

“Mike,” Morris spoke up, “I’m taking the boys to the main chamber to join the rest of them. Josten, take the smaller dragon. He’ll be Poison’s incentive on our walk.”  
A man broke away from the main group, stepping over to Bullets and kicking him hard. Bullets’ eyes snapped open and a muffled screech escaped through his muffled beak. He beat his tail back and forth, but Josten was careful to avoid it. Instead, he gripped Bullets by the horn and lifted him until one of his back legs was supporting him, unbound from the rest of his restrains. He was terribly off balance, forced to lean much of his weight into Josten’s strong arms to stay upright.

“What about the other one?” Pedicone frowned, motioning to Revenge with the hand holding Poison’s hair.  
“Hastings can take care of him, along with Deputy Iero. They’ll be here when Poison is done with his business.”  
“Got it, boss.” Hastings, the one pinning Frank down, agreed.

“If anything happens to my dragons,” Poison snapped, “You better fucking hope to every God you know you get me with the first shot because you won’t have the chance for a second one.”

“Don’t you trust me, Poison?” Morris laughed, shouldering a small bag. A stick of dynamite stuck out, bottom up, but Bob couldn’t focus on that. He had to focus on what was in front of him, namely Hastings.

Jostens started moving, following the crew of men that had already disappeared into the mouth of the cave leading into the mines. Morris turned his back to Bob and Bob took his chance. Gun drawn and a shot fired off in the span of three seconds and Hastings went down, the shot still echoing as Parade shot out of the bush and flew into Jostens with razor sharp fangs and claws. He screamed and tried to fight her off but she would not be deterred from finding out exactly what he looked like half eaten. Bob fell into Frank’s back, unsheathed his knife and sawed through the ropes while Morris and Pedicone were distracted by Parade, both drawing their guns and aiming for something that wasn’t still long enough to be shot.  
Frank shoved him off as soon as he could break through the rope and grabbed the gun Bob had discarded. He aimed, shot, and Pedicone screamed, dropping Poison and grabbing at his elbow, where the bullet had shattered through his skin. He had dropped his gun, fingers suddenly useless. Frank aimed for somewhere more lethal, but Bob shoved him out of the way to avoid Morris’ bullets and then Bob was off and after Bullets, hacking at the rope keeping his wings and legs tied together while some of the men came running from the mouth of the cave. It wasn’t all of them, maybe half of the dozen he’d seen disappear inside, but it was enough to give Bob trouble. Parade made a loud screeching noise just as Bullets broken free and Bob was hit with an almost blinding panic, worse even than the one that had overtaken him during the fire, and he couldn’t help looking around to find his companion.

The men from the cave were drawing, but three of them went down without hesitation, Frank using Bob’s revolver. Five shots used - Hastings, Pedicone, and three men. Bob took another down and discarded the revolver for Hastings dropped gun.  
“Bullets, go get Revenge,” He hissed, pulling his emergency two-shooter out and aiming for Morris - running into the tunnels.

He took the shot. Missed.

“Shit!” He cursed, slamming his fist into the ground.

“Bob, roll!” Poison screamed and he didn’t think, just rolled to his left. The stinging pain of a bullet grazing his skin hurt like _fuck_ but it was better than the lasting oblivion of a bullet to the head. He aimed, closed one of his eyes, and took the shot.

Morris went down, the content of his bag spilling into the mouth of the cave.  

“Poison!” Frank yelled and Bob shot up, looking around. He was losing his head a little, so he took a deep, deep breath and made himself calm down. The wound on his arm gushed and he was afraid it was a little deeper than a graze. He’d worry about it later, when this was over. For the moment, he ripped his sleeve off and wrapped it tight around his upper arm, above the gash, to slow the blood. “Parade!” He yelled, looking around for her, trying to find her because her last cry was still echoing in his head, “Parade!”

He finally spotted her, bleeding from an injury on her side, but biting determinedly into the thick rope around Revenge with Bullets. Revenge was bigger, stronger, and there were too many layers for Bullets to get through himself in any short amount of time. Even with Parade’s help, they were having trouble releasing her. Close by, Poison and Pedicone struggled with each other, Pedicone’s knife between them. Poison had use of both hands but he was on his knees, weak from being restrained for almost twenty four hours with no food or water and very little sleep and Pedicone’s arms were twice the size of Poison’s. There was blind pain and rage in Pedicone’s eyes - a bloodlust Poison just couldn’t match. Bob found Frank, surrounded by men but holding his own with a six shooter, lethal shots keeping him occupied and useless to Poison - bleeding heavily from a slash in his cheek and a few less intense wounds on his arms and neck. Bob dropped his gun, empty and useless, and dived into Pedicone. He caught him around the waist, took him down, and they were tumbling together, fighting - Pedicone with his not-shattered arm and Bob with the one he could still control, the other too numb from the gunshot. Somehow, Bob rolled them into the mouth of the cave and slammed his fist into Pedicone’s face, as hard as he could, until Pedicone had gone limp. He set up, shuddering, only to hear a roar of rage - the kind of sound only a companion could make at the sight of their human being hurt. He whipped around and - there, Pedicone’s companion, emerging from the trees in a gallop towards Bob. Bob looked around wildly and his eyes fell on the sticks of dynamite from Morris’ bag. The sound of more men coming from the mines registered, underneath the raging dragon shooting towards him, hindered by bullets from Frank, finally free of the men from before, now dead around him. Bob grabbed as many of the sticks as he could and stumbled to the wall, started digging them into the mouth of the mines.  
He just had to stop them from getting to the canyon. If they couldn’t get into the only fucking mine not filled with water, the canyon - the reservoir - the town, it was all safe. Nowhere was ‘Bob staying alive’ a requirement. All he had to do was take the cavern out and it was all safe.

“Bob!” Poison called in warning and Bob turned around, swung as hard as he could and Pedicone went down again, back from where he’d struggled upwards while Bob’s back was turned. Poison fell onto Pedicone, kept him distracted while Bob finished shoving sticks into the rocks and twisted the lines together.  
“Poison, get out!” Bob ordered, twisting around until he could grab the matchbook from his pocket, bloody but still useful.

“‘little - busy!” Poison snapped at him breathlessly, grabbing Pedicone’ s head and slamming it into the ground as hard as he could.

A bullet ricocheted off the wall next to Poison’s head and Bob could see the men from the mines, could see the fucking whites of their eyes and the barrels of their guns.

“I’m sorry, Poison.” Bob lit the wires. Ten seconds.  
The sound of an empty chamber caught Bob’s attention and his eyes fell on Frank. Frank was looking at his gun like it had betrayed him, and then he looked at Bob. Six seconds. Bob watched how Frank finally saw the flames burning behind Bob and how his eyes followed the wire back to the dynamite. Then Frank's attention fell on Poison, looking back at him helplessly, and panic washed over his features, horror. Three seconds.

“No!” Frank screamed, and Parade, Revenge and Bullets all snapped their heads to the mouth of the cave. Parade screeched, her wings snapping open like she was going to fly to Bob’s side in time to save him. Two seconds. Bob threw himself onto Poison, covered him with his body as the weight of a dragon - Pedicone’s companion free of Frank’s bullets now - fell onto his back, sharp teeth digging into his shoulder, and, zero seconds, the explosion rocked Bob’s entire universe out of existence.

-

“Bob.” Brian smiled at him, pressing a gentle kiss to his face. Bob wasn’t hurting anywhere, a giant step away from how he’d felt just moments before.

“Brian,” Bob breathed, smiling up at him. He tried to lift his arm, but something was pinning it down.  
“Don’t worry,” Brian teased, “Just let me do the work.”  
“Okay,” Bob agreed, not wanting to argue. He closed his eyes when Brian leaned down, but that was scary and too dark, too dusty, too painful, so he opened them back up and let Brian stroke his face with rough, dry fingers. Parade pressed closer to his side, her dark head resting on his shoulder. It was aching from her weight, but he wouldn’t dream of moving her. He could hear Poison nearby, laughing with Frank and Dewees. Pete’s familiar donkey laugh and the chirping and keeping of dragons.  
“Where’s Patrick?” He asked, pressing into the soft touches of Brian’s fingers against his face and neck.

“He’s with the town.” Brian said fondly, “He needs you, Bob.”  
“What?” Bob frowned, “He needs me?”  
“We all do. I need you, Bob.” Brian pressed fingers along Bob’s brow, smoothing the frown lines, “If you don’t wake up, we’re all in trouble.”  
“What’s wrong? I thought I fixed it.” Bob bit his lip, trying to think on how he’d fixed it. He _knew_ he had. He’d done something to end it and keep them all safe.

“If you don’t wake up, you’ll just be another useless Sheriff in a string of useless Sheriffs.” Brian informed him, running his nails along Bob’s scalp. It felt good and Bob smiled, shifting into the touch. “Do you want us to all die, Bob?”  
“No.” Bob shook his head, “I love you. I want you to live, and be happy.”  
“Happy?” Brian frowned, hands pausing, and Bob didn’t like that, “Bob, how can I be happy? I love you and you’re dying. You’re going to make Patrick cry. You’re going to forsake Parade, all because you won’t wake up.”  
“Parade’s right here,” Bob frowned at him again, and the darkness behind his eyes followed his lids open for just a moment. The laughter from before was gone and it was just he and Brian. Parade wasn’t against him anymore, but the ache in his shoulder was growing. His sides and hips hurt, like the time he and Parade had played too rough and she’d gouged at him. “Where’s Parade?”  
“She’s hurt, Bob.” Brian tapped his nose, “And she needs you to wake up. Poison needs you to wake up. We all need you to wake up, Bob. Can you do that for me?”  
“Will it hurt?” Bob asked, thinking about it. Everything was so nice here, warm and safe. He couldn’t hear laughter anymore, but he was sure his friends were safe, because Brian was with him and Brian would never let anything bad happen to them with Bob gone.

With Bob gone.

Where was he?  
“Yes.” Brian said, “It will hurt. A lot. But we need you. Are you going to let us die, Bob?”  
“No.” Bob shook his head, the first movement he’d made since he woke up, “No. I want you to live. I want you to be happy.”  
“Korse is going to kill us.” Brian closed his eyes, “He’s coming to hurt us. Bob, we’re so scared.”  
“I’m coming.” Bob promised him, “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”  
“Do you promise?” Brian opened his eyes, looking at him with his dark eyes, serious and soul-searching.

“Yes.” Bob promised again, “I swear.”  
“How much do you mean it?” Brian asked him and Bob felt his finger twitch.

“I mean it as much as I love Parade. As much as I love Patrick. As much as I love you.”  
“And how much do you love us, Bob?” Brian tilted his head and Bob lifted his hand, his shoulder shrieking in pain at him, “How much do you love me?”

Brian leaned into Bob’s hand, helped Bob sit up and pressed their lips together when Bob leaned into him.

“I love you enough to let it hurt.” Bob told him and meant every word of it. “I love you enough to wake up.”  
“Then wake up, Bob.” Brian said, lovingly, “Wake up.”

Bob closed his eyes and the scary darkness of before washed over him

“-up, Bob,” Poison was saying, sounding much more desperate than Bob had ever heard, “Bob, wake up.”  
“‘mm,” Bob grunted, just breathing slowly, letting the pain wash over him. When he’d grown used to it, could tolerate it as much as possible, he opened his eyes. For a few seconds, he only saw darkness. When his eyes settled, dilated, he could make out Poison’s face under him, could feel his body crushed under Bob’s.

“Poison?” He grumbled, “Where are we?”  
“We’re in a fucking rock pile.” Poison snapped at him, “Don’t you remember anything?”  
“Um,” Bob tried, “I...think...so?”  
“You blew up the fucking cave.” Poison nudged at him with his fingers, “And then saved my life. So thanks for that.”  
“No problem,” Bob grunted, wiggling around a little, “What’s on me?”

“A dead fucking dragon.” Poison frowned, “And a dead fucking man’s under me. We’re crushed between them. Pedicone’s companion must have taken the brunt of the rockslide and protected us.”  
“Can we dig ourselves out?” Bob asked, because he didn’t want to think about using a dragon, Pedicone’s or not, as a fucking meat shield.  
“Maybe.” Poison shrugged, just a little, “But I can’t move my arms much. I’m keeping your elbows straight. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”  
“I can’t move my arms, either.” Bob admitted, “They’re locked up. All that’s keeping what’s above us above us is my fucking elbows.”  
“Okay. Okay, let me think.” Poison said, and his voice was suddenly unnaturally calm.

Bob nodded and, even though he wanted to collapse and just rest for a fucking minute because there was the full weight of a rock pile and a fully grown dragon on top of him, he didn’t dare unlock his arms. Somehow, he was keeping it all up.

“I’m going to turn around.” Poison said slowly, “And try to dig a way out. That means I have to let go of your wounds. Do you think you can hold on?”  
“Yes.” Bob nodded. He’d made a promise to Brian, to keep them safe. He needed to be alive. That had just been added to the equation. If that meant that he had to support over a ton of fucking shit above him, he’d do it.

Poison nodded, “On the count of three.”

Poison let go and for just a moment Bob’s arms buckled. Poison’s hands were back in place immediately.

“Okay.” Bob took a breath, “Sorry. I can do it.”  
“Are you sure?” Poison frowned, “Because if you go down, we’re dead.”  
“And if you don’t dug us out, we’re dead.” Bob snapped, “I’m sure. Just dig a hole, before we run out of air.”  
Poison took a breath and nodded.  
“One...two…” Bob locked his elbows tight again and took a fortifying intake of stale air. He tensed his back and Poison let go. His elbows stayed straight. Bob closed his eyes and tried not to tremble. The support of Poison’s hands on his arms had been doing a lot to keep him steady and, without it, he was alone. He shook, his muscles straining. He’d never been more thankful for Parade flopping onto him while he exercised as he was right then.

Poison started shoving carefully, moving rocks slowly to make sure he didn’t start another rockslide. They didn’t talk at all, Bob didn’t think he could talk even if Poison had tried to, with all of his concentration focused on not being crushed to death. It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later that Poison made a hopeful noise.

“I think I broke through.” Poison called back quietly, like if he was too loud, the rocks would destroy them.

Bob grunted hard, his eyes clenched shut. His arms were shaking hard, his legs trembling. His knees felt like they were sliding out of place with each second that passed, every part of him straining to keep the rocks above them from crushing them. Poisons’ feet were level with his waist, he could feel them squirming forward against his stomach every time Poison inched forward, but Bob couldn’t open his eyes to see if he was lost in darkness or not.

“Yes,” Poison wiggled forward, sounding triumphant, “Yes, Bob, I broke through!”

“Great!” Bob finally snapped, “Are you out!?”  
“Almost!”

Bob lost the feeling of Poison and he was alone. Alone in the darkness, straining against inevitable, solid rock and surrounded by darkness, Bob was alone. There was a loud thump and a hiss.

“Poison?” he couldn’t help but call, sounding a little too panicked for his own tastes. He couldn’t control it through. He’d never been so fucking scared in his life, never been alone before in his memory. Parade had always been there, and when she wasn’t there, he was going after her. Now, he didn’t have Parade. She probably thought he was dead. She probably thought he was dead and, pinned like he was, he might as well be.

“Right here, Bob.” Poison said reassuringly, and his voice echoed, confident and sure again. “I’m out.”  
“Great.” Bob repeated himself, “Now what?”  
“Start crawling.” Poison said after a pause, “If something shifts, don’t move for a few seconds. The dragon covers about three feet in front of you, and then it’s just rock. I made it as wide as I could, but you’ll have to narrow your shoulders.  
“Narrow my shoulders, but keep my arms locked!?” Bob snapped, feeling just a little like he was going to hyperventilate. But there was nothing else to be done so, instead of waiting for whatever bullshit reply Poison could give him, he started to crawl.

There was a rumble above him and he stopped, waited until the rocks settled. He could feel Pedicone under him, stiff and cold and beginning to smell worse than he smelled in life. Bob didn’t even want to think about how stiff the dragon must have gotten in the time he’d been out, how rigid it’s body must have-

“Poison.” He called again, “Poison how long have we been out?”  
“What?”  
“How long have the two of us been in this fucking cave, Poison?”  
“A few hours, probably.” Poison answered, sounding a little confused, “I’m pretty fucked up, but I’d say...judging by how thin the air was, before I opened it up and how fucking cold it is now, three hours, maybe a little more."  
“Shit,” Bob cursed again, “Shit. Okay. Shit.”  
He was gonna work himself up to it and hope for the fucking best. “I’m going to make a run for it.”  
“A run - Bob, you’re in the middle of a fucking rock wall, you can’t just-”  
“I won’t be able to crawl out, Poison.” Bob snarked, “I won’t be able to get out and I am not dying in a fucking hole in the wall on top of this fucking piece of shit and his companion, do you understand me? Now get the fuck back and pray to fucking God that the cold hasn’t slowed down body stiffening.”  
“He was moving a lot before,” Poison finally said, “That usually makes it faster. I’ll be here, Bob.”  
“If I…” Bob cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little choked. Maybe it was the blood loss, the whole ‘being buried alive’ thing, or maybe he hit his head. Maybe it was the stress of a day that he’d expected to be a lot less stressful. Whatever it was, it had broken down whatever walls usually stood between Bob’s emotions and his outward projections, made everything much more intense and fear inducing. Bob had faced death many times before, but this was the first time in a long time that he was _needed_ , the first time he had a reason to stay alive and people actually waiting for him to come home. “If it doesn’t work, I need you to tell Pete and Patrick that I fucking love them, okay?”  
“I will.” Poison agreed, not wasting time reassuring Bob of something he couldn’t promise, “Anything else?”  
“Tell Parade I want her to protect Brian, okay? Tell her...tell her I love her more than anything I’ve ever known, and that I’ll be waiting for her when it’s her time, but not a minute before. I want her to live a good life, long and full and filled with people who love her. Tell her to raise those Naga good. And…” he cleared his throat, “Tell Brian...If I don’t make it back, tell Brian that I would have really liked it. He’ll know what I mean.”

“I will.” Poison repeated, quiet. “I’ll tell them.”  
“Okay.” Bob took a breath, “Okay. It’s just straight ahead, right?”  
“Right. You can do this, Bob.”  
“Okay.”

Bob didn’t remember moving. He didn’t remember bracing himself or scrambling, didn’t remember using Pedicone’s body to launch himself through the rocks. He didn’t remember when he cut his hands, when the rocks broke through his ruined jeans or shirt, or even when he found himself out of the hole and the rocks were crushing the place where he was not even seconds earlier. He didn’t remember anything, after it was done. Just that he was out, that he was sitting in pitch darkness with Poison pressed to his side, and that they were clinging to each other, touching each other just to make sure they were alive.

“We did it,” Poison laughed, “W-we survived!”  
“Fuck yes!” Bob yelled, just because he could, just to feel the excited blood flowing through his arms. He didn’t try standing, didn’t throw his arms up, because it hurt like shit and he could barely sit without feeling the need to scream. His muscles from the tips of his toes to the literal tips of his hair ached with overexertion.

“Okay,” Poison finally said after they’d rested for a few minutes in a celebratory silence, “Okay, we need to leave.”  
“Leave?”  
“Yes.” Poison agreed. “There are only two nonflooded exits, one is the reservoir and the other comes out near the city.”  
“Which is closer?” Bob asked, maybe to put it off just a little longer. The thought of standing, let alone moving for miles of dark hiking, was already hurting him and he didn’t know if he could do it just yet.

“The reservoir, but the canyon is nearly impossible to get out of without a dragon. We’ll have to use the one by the city and hope we can find someone willing to drive us.”

Bob made a noise to show he understood and levered himself up. He didn’t want to, but he’d promised and so he would. He had Parade to get back to, Patrick and Pete,. Brian. He had to make sure Mikey and Frank got Poison back.  
“Now, there’s just one problem.” Poison said, “I know how to get there, but, um, my ankle is kind of fucked.”  
“What?” Bob rubbed his face, because if he did anything else, he’d actually start crying. He felt overly emotional right then, like his whole being was just seconds away from being shattered.

“My foot.” Poison said slowly, “When I got out, I fucked up my ankle. I can walk, but it’s gonna slow us down.”  
“Fuck.” Bob said succinctly. He couldn’t support Poison. He could barely support himself. He couldn’t support Poison. He _couldn’t_. But he _had to_.

He used the wall. It was pitch dark, complete blackness, so he felt around slowly until he’d managed to find it, and then he carefully held out a hand, “Take my hand. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”  
Poison reached out and grabbed Bob’s hand and squeezed. Together, they stood and used each other for support. It took a few moments for Bob to breathe through the pain in his legs, lock them so he didn’t turn into jelly. When he got home, he was going to kick Korse’s ass, and then he was going to curl up in his bed with his dragon and his...Brian, and he was going to sleep for a week straight. Anything else could wait.

“Okay…” Poison said, and the word had become a mantra to the both of them. Everything was going to be okay, they just had to keep saying it and saying it and it would all be okay. They’d get themselves out of this, because it was live or die, survive or give in, and Bob had made the decision to never give in another day in his life. It would all be -

“Okay.” Poison repeated, “I left a lantern, about a hundred meters in. If we can make it that far, we’ll be able to see and that’ll make this a lot easier.”

Bob nodded, just a little so he wouldn’t dislodge Poison’s arm from his neck, and prepared himself.  
“We’re moving.” He finally warned, when he’d worked himself up to it, and they started to move. One step in front of the other in front of the other, they limped together. The darkness was the worst of it, unnerving and unfamiliar to one and even worse for the other. Every step was testing. Once, Bob stepped on something that gave under his foot unlike rock, but he refused to think on it. Bob had killed before, but this was...there had been over fifteen men coming and he’d killed them all, not to mention the dragon who had just been protecting his companion. He and Poison were the only ones to survive and it was because of a fluke, a sheer stroke of fucking luck. Frank was going to hate him forever, but at least they’d both be alive to be hated.

“I’m sorry I got you in this with me, Poison.” He mumbled, when the silence was beginning to get to him, make him think he could hear the whispers of the dead men hidden in the darkness around them. “I didn’t think you’d be there.”  
“You saved the fucking town, Bob.” Poison laughed, “And you still managed to keep me alive. And now look, you’re fucking carrying me through pitch black mines and you can barely stand. I think you’re safe.”  
“Frank is going to kick my ass so hard.”  
“Frank’s gonna be a little busy.” Poison teased, keeping the conversation light, “As soon as we get home, I’m marrying that stupid fuck.”  
“Shit,” Bob smiled, feeling genuinely happy for him, underneath all the physical aches and pains, “Shit, man, that’s great. We’ll all be there.”  
“Mikey’s making Frank’s suit. It’s a surprise.” Poison mumbled, his voice gentling, “He’s always wanted a suit made from the same material as the one his dad wore when he married his mom. The jacket is all he has of his family.”  
“He and Dewees and Sorrow are from the traveling shows.” Bob repeated, more for himself than for Poison. He doubted there was anything he knew about Frank Iero that Poison didn’t, let alone his history. His head was getting a little blurry though, and simple facts were always the easiest to say out loud when his head ached.

“Yeah,” Poison nodded, “For a long time, they were all each other had. Then they met Brian, and he took them to Northern Downpour. Frank actually proved my innocence when I was accused of killing Sheriff Pelissier. Korse would never admit it, of course, but it was tied back to him and he accused me, being an infamous outlaw and all.”

“I think I’m gonna shoot him when we get into town. Become an outlaw with you.”  
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Poison smiled, Bob could feel it. “As soon as Korse is gone, I’m giving up the mask. I’m going to give Grant the evidence against Korse in exchange for a pardon for all my crimes from Brian. Then I’m going to marry my fucking fiancé after years of shaky engagement and work with my brother in his clothing store.”  
“Sounds like a plan,” Bob grunted, stopping for a moment to catch his breath, “Close by?”  
Poison leaned against the wall and felt for something, taking a careful step away from Bob. There was a sound, the soft whistle of glass opening and a gear turning, and then a match running hard against a rough surface. Light filled Bob’s eyes and he squeezed them shut tight, hissed away from it.  
“Sorry, sorry!” Poison laughed, “I should have warned you. Your eyes will get used to it.”

“Shut up,” Bob groaned, leaning against him for a few minutes as he let his eyes adjust, first, to the shadows of the light and, eventually, the lit lantern.

“Okay, take the fourth path on the right.” Poison pointed, “It’s a straight shot, all the way. It’s an upward slope, but you won’t feel it until you hit straight land again, in town.”  
“Of course it is,” Bob laughed, because if he didn’t, he’d cry. “Hold the lantern.”  
“Consider it held.” Poison agreed, holding it out to light the path they traveled. It wasn’t easy, not by a longshot, but it made it easi _er_ , and that was all Bob could ask for.

-

Moonlight, compared to firelight, was much gentler and much, much more welcome to Bob. He could hear the sounds of city nightlife, familiar and comforting to him in a way he hadn’t known he had missed. He’d have to come to the city more, visit and reawaken the inner city slicker inside of himself, once this fiasco was over with.

“We made it.” Poison said softly, “We made it, Bob.”  
“We did.” Bob agreed, feeling nauseous with relief, “We made it.”  
“We need to get a ride.” Poison started, flinching when Bob didn’t go with him and he landed on his ankle wrong.

“We need to get that ankle wrapped. We’ve been walking for hours.”  
“Exactly,” Poison protested, “It’s been hours, who knows what Korse has done now that the dam hasn’t exploded.”  
“He’s probably stewing,” Bob said gently, “Exactly like it should be until we can be sure he’s in jail. Now come on, let’s find a doctor for you and I’ll call a cab.”  
“We’ve got no cash.”  
“I’ve got my badge,” Bob smirked, “I’m commandeering a transport vehicle.”

“Just commandeer a fast one, and Hurley can look at me when we get to town. No physician is open at this hour.”

They limped into town, bloody and dusty and trembling from exertion together, but no one stopped them to ask questions. Eventually, Bob was able to flag down a taxi and waited until they were comfortable in the backseat before he made his request.  
“How much to Northern Downpour?”  
“I don’t leave the city, buddy,” The cabby shook his head, tipping his head, “Not at night.”  
“Look,” Bob sighed, holding out his badge, “Don’t make me call in the coppers. I need to get to Northern Downpour, as fast as this automobile will get me there, and I’ll pay as much as I can comfortably afford.”  
“And you’ll have a favor from Grant Morrison,” Poison added, “You know, the one who owns the ranch and mayors Northern Downpour?”  
“Morrison?” The cabby raised an eyebrow, “Really, now?”  
“One hundred percent seriously,” Bob promised, “I’ll take you in to see him, myself. Please.”  
The cabby took a minute to think the deal over, but he eventually nodded and started the car, “It’s ten dollars.”  
“Deal.” Poison said immediately, “Now step on it. Once you hit the sand, there are no speed laws so don’t bother following any.”  
The cabby nodded and took off down the road, the way they’d come, but much faster. They passed the mine entrance in minutes, and found themselves pushing the car as fast as it would go in the sandy path degraded into a road. Once they were on the move, Bob closed his eyes and relaxed into the seats. He was too tense to sleep, too tense to rest, but he was able to close his eyes and enjoy just sitting and letting the automobile move for him. He had grown tired of repeating just how much he hurt to himself, so he thought about something else.

“Tell me your name.” He finally requested, his head practically hanging off the seat. The cool wind hurt on his frozen skin, the mines having been steadily dropping in temperature since they’d awoken, but he didn’t really care. He knew it hurt, but in a strange way. Like he knew it, but couldn’t quite feel it. It was probably shock. He’d lost a lot of blood, too much, probably, but it hadn’t slowed him down. Poison had lost a lot too, and his ankle was purple and obviously twisted. They were a mess, the two of them, but they were a mess that had _lived_ and that was all that mattered.

“I will,” Poison patted his leg weakly, “We make it through this? I’ll tell you my name.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bob mumbled, not quite sure if he was loud enough to be heard.

Poison had them stop an hour out of town, at a small shack barely large enough to lay down in, and he disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, there was a sack made of burlap slung over his shoulder. When he got back into the car, hobbling on an ankle too frozen cold to feel, he waited for the cabby to start driving again before he leaned over, rested his head against Bob’s shoulder.

“Frank never picked up the evidence bag, Bob.”  
Bob closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around Poison’s shoulders. Somehow, he doubted that Deputy Iero had forgotten it on his way home.

When the Northern Downpour sign appeared in the distance, Bob had to hold back tears. He wasn't sure if he was all that successful. Poison looked close to weeping next to him, and it was all Bob could do to keep his breathing even. He wanted to be home.

Home.

The cabby rolled into a dark town. It reminded Bob of the first night he and Parade had walked into town, so long ago now. So different from how he felt now. There was loud noise from the religious center, but Bob couldn’t deal with anything just yet. He needed to get the cabby paid and out of here before he brought the wrong kind of attention to himself and he needed to put Poison in the station, away from trouble, with that sack on his shoulder.  
“The station,” Bob mumbled, “Just stop there.”  
“You got it.” The cabby drawled, pulling in front of the station. Bob helped Poison out and gave the cabby a ‘just a minute’ finger. They helped each other inside, prepared for anything. but it was empty. Bob set Poison against the desk and went about collecting fifteen dollars from the safe in the back room, promising to replace it as soon as he could.

“Stay here,” He pointed at Poison, who looked half ready to collapse onto his foot, “I’m going to go find someone.”  
“Yes, Bob.” Poison rolled his eyes, but he looked ready to pass out and Bob wasn’t much better himself.

He climbed back into the cab before he handed the man the three five dollar bills, “Take me to the church down the street and it’s all yours, sir.”  
The cabby didn’t even respond, just grabbed the money and rolled the car down the street. The ride wasn’t worth five extra dollars, but Bob barely had the energy to sit up, let alone walk down the street.  
He nodded his thanks when he got out, but the cabby was already trundling away, back to the city.

When he was out of sight, Bob moved as fast as he could to the door and opened it, twisting the handle and pushing with all of his weight because he could no longer quite differentiate between little force and big force.

No one noticed, because inside was a madhouse. It looked like almost every person in the town, all two hundred and nineteen of them, from the youngest little Bob Morris Junior to the oldest Attonito, had found themselves in the portable pews, some crying and others sitting stony faced as they faced the Holy Man on the portable stage. The tens of dragons that called the town of Northern Downpour their home set along the wall, all of their attention on Holy Man McCracken.

Bob wasn’t sure what to make of the display, until he finally understood the words being spoken loud enough to echo.

“-loss of Sheriff Robert Bryar and Deputy Party Poison resonates within all of us. Those left behind, companions of both deceased, a brother, a fiancé, and close family friends, will mourn these lost souls forever and they will never be forgotten. Taken from us, too soon, too young,”  
“It’s Korse’s fault!” Someone shouted and Bob thought it might have been a grief-stricken Steve, “It’s that bastard’s fault!”  
“My brother’s dead!” Mikey cried, wailing almost hysterical, like he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it and all he could do was scream, “He’s dead, he’s dead and its all-”  
“It’s all his fault!”

It went up, a loud chant of Korse’s name, hatred burning. Bob searched the crowd, looking for particular people. A particular creature. He spotted Parade first and he felt his restricting heart relax just a little. She looked truly miserable, lying flat on the floor of the portable stage, her wings expanded wide, like she didn’t even care if the whole world saw her defeated figure.

“Parade.”

Her name hadn’t been loud, shouted over the voices, and he had known that it hadn’t needed to be. She was his and he was her’s, and they were connected through something he’d never be able to explain. They were companions, and the breathe that was her name passing his bloody lips was all she needed to awaken.

First was her eyes and he watched as if time had slowed as she lifted her ears, her head, her neck, her shoulders, her body, her tail, her wings, until she was standing tall and wide. Her eyes fell on him, across the room, across a sea of grieving, angry townsmen. For that moment, all he could think of was having her in his arms again.  
She flew. With a gust of air that knocked over the first row of people, she had cleared their heads. They screamed and people ducked from her way, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were for him, and his for her, and for the first time since he’d heard her screech in pain, he could inhale and exhale effortlessly.

He fully expected to be knocked over by her weight, but when she wrapped herself around him, it was with little force at all, as if she'd stopped herself at the last moment.

“Parade.” He sobbed into her head, between her horns. She pressed against him, curled her body around his - protective, armor to keep the outside world away. He knew he was safe, surrounded by her on all sides, and she caught him when his legs finally gave out. He didn’t think he could stand up again, hours of holding up rock and dragon, walking through miles and miles of darkness supporting Poison, anxious to get home and make sure the town was safe, all worked to drag the last of his strength from him. Parade didn’t even sag under his weight, strong and steady under him. He breathed her in, let himself fall.

Eventually, other voices broke through the little bubble he’d created of just the two of them, but only when Parade’s growling had begun to make her vibrate.

“Bob?”

Bob didn’t open his eyes when Patrick touched him, the gentle, callused fingers of a musician against the bared, bloody patch of shoulder under ripped shirt, but he let out a relieved breath. “Patrick.”  
“Bob,” Patrick choked, “Bob, we thought you were dead.”  
“I saw the rocks,” Frank spoke up, sounding devastated, “I saw you and Poison,”

“Poison,” Bob finally opened his eyes, shuddered at the ache even that simple action wrought, “Poison needs Hurley. He’s in the station. His ankle's all fucked up. Bleeding, somewhere.”  
“He’s alive, too!?”

“We’re both,” Bob mumbled, twitching a finger against Parade’s flank. “Just go,”

“Don’t worry, Bob.” Patrick gentled a hand against Bob’s cheek and Bob relaxed farther into Parade’s body, nodded, starting to drift as Patrick continued, “Just sleep, okay? You can tell us all about it when you wake up.”  
“Okay…” Bob agreed, because it was all okay, now. He was home and everyone was safe. Everyone was-

“Brian,” He grunted, trying to sit up, “I need to,”  
“Bob,” Brian was there, in Bob’s admittedly limited sights, and Bob finally, finally was able to give in.

“Brian.” He said again. He twisted his hand, palm out, winced but didn’t care because he needed to touch Brian, to see if he was real this time. “You’re okay.”  
“ _You’re_ okay,” Brian laughed, sounding shaky and watery and Bob couldn’t help but smile, tired and bloody and dirty. Brian reached out, laced their fingers together the way Bob needed to close his eyes again and let the world fade.

-

Bob woke up feeling like complete shit. He hadn’t felt this bad in years, since he’d stopped going out on Friday nights and returning Monday mornings with no recollection of the time in between. There was a weight against him that could only be Parade, her head resting against his thigh, warm and soothing against the pains of his body. His hand found her neck and he stroked the few inches he could touch without moving too much. He couldn’t remember where he was. He opened his eyes slowly, looked around and took in the worn wood of the room. Eventually, once he’d spotted enough things that seemed familiar to him, he deduced that he was in his room.

“Bob?”

He tilted his head slowly, took in the sun kissed skin and tattoos, and smiled a little.

“Brian.” He tried to sit up but Brian pressed against one of his shoulders, laying him back down. He pulled a bottle from the table next to the bed and pressed it to Bob’s lips, smiling a little when Bob immediately tried to down the whole thing.

“Slow,” Brian mumbled, pulling the bottle away. Bob grunted, giving him a look.

“I’m okay.”  
“Maybe. You’re covered in bandages and blood. You lost a lot, Bob. How you made it home, I have no idea.”  
“Yeah, it was adrenaline and shock. And you.”  
“Me?”

Bob flushed, because he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. He was feeling better, feeling more himself. Thinking back on some of the thoughts that had passed his mind the last time he'd been conscious, on how close he’d been to an emotional breakdown from the moment he’d woken up under the rocks to collapsing into Parade, he was kind of embarrassed. Brian didn’t need to know about those, though. The only person privy to those thoughts had been Poison, when the silence of the mines that their uneven gait had disturbed and he’d started to talk just to hear something.

“You.” Was what Bob finally settle on. He’d let Brian think what he wished on it, but he wouldn’t get another word on the matter from Bob. Some things were just too hard to say in his right mind and he wasn’t up to push his limits anymore any time soon.

Brian let it drop, Instead, he helped Bob finish off the bottle of water and then lifted a plate of crackers.  
“Real food.” Bob nearly whined, sighing, “Can’t I have real food?”  
“Not until Hurley says so.” Brian insisted, handing off one of the crackers. Bob tried to lift his arm high enough to feed himself but it just wasn’t going to happen.  
“Shit.” He grunted, dropping his hand back to Parade’s side.  
“Let me.” Brian picked the cracker out of his fingers and held it to Bob’s mouth. Bob steadfastly refused to open. “Don’t be a child.”  
“You are not feeding-” Bob started, only for the cracker to be shoved into his mouth without warning. It was either choke or chew so he angrily chewed and swallowed the cracker. The problem was, once the cracker hit his stomach he was ravenous. Brian fed him slowly, made him actually chew before he swallowed or he wouldn’t get the next cracker. It was humiliating, but not as bad as it would have been had it been anyone but Brian. When the crackers were gone, and Brian had given him another drink from a different glass bottle - something a little stronger than water, Bob laid back down and closed his eyes. They set together in a quiet that, at least to Bob, was comfortable and content. Bob was alive. Bob had saved them. That was all that mattered now. Parade snored quietly at his side, protecting him even in sleep, and he could hear voices below him, in the station - someone who sounded too much like Pete to not be him, and where Pete was, Patrick was.

“Where’s Poison?” He finally asked, once the thought had crossed his mind that he couldn’t hear Mikey or Frank, “Is he okay?”  
“He’s fine,” Brian smoothed Bob’s hair from his forehead, wiped his brow with a rag from a bucket by his feet, “He’s resting at Hurley’s office with Mikey and Frank. His ankle was fucked, twisted all to hell. Hurley was able to set it right but he won’t be outlawin’ for a few weeks.”  
“Revenge and Bullets?”

“They’re with him. Frank came in, about half a day before you. He and the dragons were pretty banged up so it took ‘em the rest of the night and most of the morning to get home. McCoy took them in, called his friends from up at the ranch and they came down to fix ‘em up.”  
“Hell, and you guys were already having a funeral?”

“It was a memorial, and you'd been missing for two days!” Brian protested, “We thought you were dead. We were going to gather a posse and go after Korse’s head afterwards, honestly.”  
“Not you, too, right?” Bob tried to sit up, “He’s fucking’, Brian, he was going to flood the whole town-”

“Not me,” Brian denied, “I was going to say in town and, when they brought him in, sentence him.”  
“His lawyer?”  
“Grant was going to waive his right to a Morrison lawyer, and Pete would have been his public defender.” Brian shrugged, “It was a plan thought out in the midst of grief, so it wasn’t exactly legal. Or very well planned.”  
“Glad I showed up when I did, then.” Bob patted Parade’s side, “I’m sorry we caused so much trouble.”  
“Shut up,” Brian snapped at him, “Don’t ever do anything that stupid again, do you understand me?”

“I did it to protect you!” Bob defended himself, “And the town! The dam-”  
“I don’t care!” Brian gripped Bob’s hand in his own, so hard that Brian’s fingers turned white. Bob squeezed back as best he could. His strength was coming back to him, but he didn’t think he’d be up and moving around for a few more hours of rest. “I don’t care if God himself is coming to strike us from the earth, if you do something to put yourself in danger like this again, I’m going to shoot you, myself!”

His voice cracked midway and Bob wasn’t comfortable describing anything about Brian as ‘sobby’, but by the time his threat had finished, his voice had hiccupped.

“I’m sorry,” Bob squeezed his hand again, “Brian, I’m sorry.”

Brian glared at him, his eyes too bright for Bob’s comfort. He knew Brian was still mourning Pelissier, still missed his best friend, and it must have terrified him, thinking that he was going to lose Bob and Poison to the same man that had taken Matt from him, had taken many people from the town.

“I’m not sorry I did it,” Bob lifted Brian’s hand to his lips, breathed through the aches of his arm muscles, and pressed a kiss to the dry skin he found, “I’m sorry I scared you, though. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
“Shut up,”  Brian said again, softer. He leaned down to kiss Bob, and Bob tasted tears that he didn’t mention when Brian pulled back. “Just...don’t, okay? Don’t, anymore.”  
“I promised I’d come back,” Bob rubbed his thumb along Brian’s fingers, soothing circles to reassure him, “And I came back. I promised I’d stop Pedicone, and he’s dead. I promise, I’ll take Korse in. And when he’s behind bars, I promise not to do anything else this stupid, without you there with me.”

Brian looked him over, “You didn’t exactly come back unscathed.”  
“I came back, alive.” Bob smirked, “That’s more than I can say for Korse’s men. Trust me, Brian.”

“I do trust you.” Brian looked away, “It’s Korse I’m worried about. Korse and fucking-”

“I know,” Bob agreed, “I know.”

“...fine. Fine, I’ll take your promise. Just know that if you break them, I’ll kill you, myself.”  
“I understand,” Bob said seriously, nodding his head against his pillow. “Now, I’m going to sleep. And when I wake up, I’m going to arrest Korse.”  
“Fine.” Brian agreed, smiling a little, “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bob let his eyes fall shut, stopped fighting against the pull to fall back asleep. A thought nagged at him, though, and he spoke up.  
“Oh, Poison’s bag,” Bob brought up, voice far away, “He had it...the evidence bag…”  
“What bag?” Brian asked, confused, but Bob was already sleeping.

-

Bob dreamed he was back in Chicago. He was sitting in his apartment, alone, and the place was completely empty. All of his furniture, his knickknacks and items were gone. He set in the middle of the living room, in front of the only door into the apartment, skinny as shit to the point that Parade had to angle herself in a strange position to slide inside and Bob always had to narrow his shoulders. It was bright outside and he could see through the windows that the sun was shining. Inside, though, was dark. Bob could make out the space in front of him, because the window behind him was illuminating the space, casting a long, dark shadow of himself which melded into the darkness of the rest of the room - obscuring the farthest corners completely and dimming the area untouched by sunlight. He watched the door open slowly, light stream in from the outside and connect the sunlight from the doorway to the sunlight from the window behind him. His shadow disappeared from view, blocked by the light from the outside world. A figure made its way through the door and Bob watched, unsurprised, as the doorway shifted and molded for the figure, made itself wider and taller so Parade could walk in unhindered. She settled herself against Bob’s side, like she always did, and he ran his fingers down her scales, let his fingertips rest against the base of her horn. She fell asleep next to him, basking in the sunlight the window let in, the warmth he couldn’t feel. When she had settled, another figure came into the apartment and the door shifted again, moved to allow for the smaller person. When Patrick fell into the light, Bob wasn’t surprised by his presence either. Patrick set on Bob’s other side, took his hand in his own and didn’t say a word. Soon, Pete joined him, steady and always there at Patrick’s arm. Poison was next, sitting in front of Bob, just slightly to his left - staring at him. The others had relaxed, laid against him, but made no effort to acknowledge him. Poison stared at him like he did in the waking world, hard and questioning, always making Bob think and question and ask because Poison never settled and he wouldn’t let Bob settle either. Frank found a place at Poison’s shoulder, their hands intertwining and then Mikey, Ray, Gabe and William and McCoy and Hurley and Trohman, somehow fitting into his living room, as small as it was. He couldn’t look around without spotting a new, familiar face - someone he’d met and come to care for in Northern Downpour, filling his old Chicago apartment to burst. The last person to come through he door was Brian and Bob would have thought he’d be the first of the Downpour citizens to find Bob in the window light, the only spot in the dark rooms filled with light. But he was the last and Bob didn’t question it because Bob didn’t question anything. It made sense, somehow, in this dream, that the whole town would be able to fit in his single room, that Parade took as much space as Patrick despite her larger size and that the dragons which had joined him were settled around and sleeping, all able to fit in this small window space of sunlight.  
Brian set in front of him, the last space left free and Bob didn’t know what to say. Brian reached his hands out and, even though he was only a few inches from Bob, Bob knew he’d have to reach out if he wanted to touch him. Bob lifted his arms, slow like he was reaching through water, and Bob realized that he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing, but it wasn’t hurting him. It was comfortable, a numb feeling in his chest that he didn’t mind being there. When his fingers touched Brian’s, that numbness turned to stone and it hurt, hurt like he was suffocating because he _was_. He snatched his hands back, curled in on himself and closed his eyes so the light would disappear.

“Bob.” Patrick’s voice echoed around his mind.

Bob shook his head. He was scared. Scared like he hadn’t been when he was stuck in the rock wall with Poison, like he hadn’t been when he was walking through pitch black looking for the lantern that would help him escape. Scared like he hadn’t been before in his life.

“Bob.” Patrick said again, Brian’s voice joining him. Poison’s voice, Frank’s voice, Dewees’ voice, and even Parade’s - the way he imagined her to sound when she spoke in his head.

Bob reached out, found Brian’s hands and gripped. Air filled his lungs and it hurt, because he was reopening his chest and filling himself with the sweet relief of a breath after so long without. It hurt, but it was the kind of hurt that he needed.

He blinked his eyes, and he was awake.

His room was dark, no sunshine slipping in through the curtains far enough to reach him in bed. Parade was still at his side, but Brian was next to him, too and Bob took a minute to just enjoy being alive. He hadn’t thought he’d be getting out of that wall, and he hadn’t thought he’d get through those mines. He hadn’t thought he’d make it to town, make it to the station and to Patrick and Brian and Pete.

Soon, it would all be over. Korse would be arrested, Pedicone and Morris were dead, the town was safe. The people he loved were safe, and with Korse gone, they’d stay that way. All he needed was that bag. Poison’s pardon, Korse’s arrest, all hinged on that bag.

_What bag?_

“What bag.” Bob said out loud, just to make sure it sounded as bad as it had before he’d slept.

“Brian,” He set up and his muscles ached, but not as badly as they had the last time he was awake. “Brian, wake up.”  
“Shut up,” Brian slapped at him, “Go back to sleep. Too early for your shit, Bob.”

“No, seriously, this is important. I asked about Poison’s bag and you said ‘ _what bag_ ’, what do you mean, ‘ _what bag_ ’?”

“I mean,” Brian opened his eyes, glaring up at Bob tiredly, “That there was no bag. There was a passed out Poison in the station, a passed out you on Parade, and a whole lot of not bag.”  
Bob closed his eyes and rubbed his head because life could never be easy.

“Okay. This is really bad. That bag was the evidence bag. We really need that bag. If it wasn’t with Poison, it means that it’s disappeared. If it’s disappeared, Korse won’t be going to jail.”  
“Why would Poison have the evidence bag? You two were barely awake, why would you stop to get,” Brian cut himself off and set up, stretching. “You know what? You’re both idiots, that’s why. Get up.”  
Bob scrambled up, looking for a shirt and something that wasn’t just a pair of boxers. Brian tossed him something and he shoved the clothes on without looking. Parade watched them lazily from the bed, not bothering to stand until Bob had pulled his boots on and was lacing them up. Brian tossed him his belt and Bob strapped it on, ignoring the feeling of loss at the lack of his revolver at his hips.

They went downstairs, Parade just behind them, and hurried into the station without fanfare.

“Bob!” Dewees stood up from his desk, looking a little shocked and worried, “What are you doing up?”  
“A bag,” Bob demanded, “There was a burlap bag, near or on Poison when we got back into town. It’s seriously important, Dewees. We need that bag.”

“I was the first one here,” Dewees frowned, “There wasn’t a bag, not that I saw.”  
“We need to talk to Poison.” Bob started for the door, but Brian’s hand held him back.

“Frank and Mikey aren’t letting anyone in to see him.” He warned, “They might not let you in, either.”  
“They’ll let me in.” Bob straightened up, “Or they’ll deal with something they don’t want to be dealing with.”  
Brian watched him carefully before nodding, “Dewees, watch the station. We’ll be back soon.”

Dewees saluted and set back down, looking worried but willing to let Bob do whatever he needed to.

Brian stayed by Bob’s side as they walked down the street, the people in it pausing to watch them go past. No one tried to stop them, probably because of the dead set look on Bob’s face, but Parade flicked her tail in greeting when someone waved. They made it to Hurley’s office without interruption and Bob paused in front of the door to catch his breath. His muscles didn’t hurt as much anymore, but they still hurt and the gash on his arm from the bullet was stinging like a bitch. Parade pressed to his side and he used her and Brian as support, leaning against them while he waited for his lungs to start working again. His dream came to mind for a few seconds, but it left before long, when he was knocking against the door rapidly.

Hurley opened it, looking haggard and annoyed.

“Finally,” he opened the door wider, “Your Deputies are disrupting my business. They won’t let me near Poison unless it’s with fresh bandages or medicine for his cuts and bruises and they throw fits when I tell them to get the hell out.”  
“I’ll take care of it.” Bob promised, “Just take me to them.”  
“Bob,” Brian frowned, “Don’t overexert yourself. You just woke up and you're stomping around town.”  
“I’ll be fine.”

_Just as soon as we have that bag,_ he thought.

Hurley led them through his building, stopping at the farthest room from the front, where he knocked on the door loudly. “You’re in for it now, Iero! The Sheriff is here for you!”

The lock on the door clicked after a few seconds and it cracked open, Frank’s furious eyes peeking out.  
“Go away, Bob.”  
“I need to talk to Poison.” Bob really wished he wasn’t too tired to snap, but he was, so he just leaned against Brian and gave Frank a firm look, “Now.”  
“He’s busy recovering from the fucking cave in you caught him in, so don’t mind me if I kindly tell you to _fuck off_ , Sheriff.” Frank spat back, and Bob could hear Revenge and Bullets inside, moving around as they sensed Frank’s agitation.  
“Be mad at me all you want,” Bob worked up the strength to snap back, “But I need to talk to Party Poison right now and if you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

Frank glared at him for a long time, not moving.

Bob straightened up and held his hand out to Brian, “Your cuffs, Brian.”  
Brian gave a loud sigh and handed them over. “Frank, just let us in. If we don’t find out where this fucking bag is, Korse won’t be going away for any time at all.”

“You have five seconds to open the door, Iero. I’m not play.”

Bob began to count in his head. He understood that Frank was pissed at him, and understandably so. He’d be pissed as hell, too, if Frank had done something like this to Patrick, or Brian, or any of Bob’s friends. He understood, but he had to find that bag and Frank’s feelings couldn’t get in his way if he wanted Poison to stay free and the town to stay alive.

“Frankie, just let them in.” Mikey’s voice broke in. Frank didn’t look happy about it, and almost looked mutinous, like he was going to fight Bob for the cuffs, but he opened the door for them. Brian walked in first and Bob came in at his heels, Parade wandering in and curling around Bob protectively. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his dragon feeling that he was threatened in a room full of his own Deputies, but he didn’t worry about it. Instead, he found Poison with his eyes and let out a hard sigh. Poison didn’t look much better from the last time Bob had seen him, but he was cleaner and he looked peaceful. Mikey set by his head, a hand against Poison’s red hair, fanned out across the pillow under him. At the end of his bed, Bullets and Sorrow curled together, keeping Poison’s foot elevated and warm, while Revenge napped by Mikey, her head on his lap. Killjoy curled himself around Frank, watching Bob until the cuffs were put back into Brian’s belt. Once they had disappeared, Killjoy seemed to relax, but he didn’t remove himself from Frank.

“Wake him up,” Bob finally said, sitting down heavily in the chair Frank had probably vacated. His legs were beginning to shake. He didn’t know how he’d get back to the station, let alone go looking for the bag if Poison didn’t know where it was.

“He needs rest,” Mikey protested, but Brian stopped him with a hand, looking severe.

“What he needs is Korse dealt with. He’s a grown ass man and he’s needed to keep everyone else safe. Wake him up.”  
“Brian,” Frank protested, but they all knew Brian was right. Mikey hesitated, but eventually he settled his hand against Poison’s forehead and brushed his hair with his fingers.

“Gee,” He called gently, “Gee, wake up.”

Poison shifted and made a soft, protesting noise. It took a moment for Mikey’s voice to register, but when it did, he flew up into a sitting position, startling Bullets and Sorrow. Sorrow shot off the bed and into Parade’s ready wing, pressing against her side and watching Poison take a deep breath and shake his head to wake up.

“What happened?”  
“You’ve been sleeping for almost two days.” Frank informed him, “And we had to wake you up. Sheriff Bryar needs to talk to you.”

“Bob?” Poison rubbed his eyes, groggy and not fully awake just yet, “What’s wrong?”  
“We can’t find the evidence bag.” Bob leaned into Brian’s hand when he put it on Bob’s shoulder, grateful for the support - both physical and mental. With both Frank and, now, Mikey against him, for a few seconds he’d begun to feel alone. Like he was all on his own against Korse now. And he knew that it wasn’t the case, he always had Parade and Patrick and Pete and, hell, he always had Brian on his side when it came to Korse. Rationally, he knew that he wasn’t alone but, for just a few moments, he’d almost forgotten that.

“You can’t find it?” Poison frowned, finally blinking the sleep from his eyes. He still looked tired and Bob knew he needed rest. Hell, Bob needed rest.

“When they came to get you from the station, Dewees said that there was no bag. But we got it, we picked it up. I know we did. You had it with you when I left you in the station.”

“I must have...I was so out of it by the time you’d gone to get help…” Poison spoke slowly, thinking out loud, “No one came in, I don’t think. I remember being scared, though. I thought the cabby was going to come back and take it. He was working with Korse, at least in my mind. By that point, everyone I didn’t personally know was working with Korse.”

“Paranoia,” Hurley said from the doorway as he passed by, “could be a symptom of trauma the likes of which both Poison and Bob suffered.”

“How long were you gone, Bob?”  
“Not long,” Bob frowned, “Maybe ten minutes, tops. Time passed strangely, but I got a ride to the religious center,”  
“And you told us about Poison as soon as we started talking to you.” Brian offered, “Frank and Dewees hit the station maybe two minutes later.”  
“So I must have hidden it.” Poison finally said, “I must have hidden it so the cabby couldn’t come back and take it.”  
“That’s great!” Bob set up, feeling relieved, “That means it’s safe. Where’d you hide it?”  
“I have no idea.” Poison admitted, “I can’t remember much of anything that night. Ten minutes was plenty of time for me to hide it anywhere in the station.”  
“That’s not...too bad, then.” Bob offered, “I mean, that station is only so big.”

“It shouldn’t take us long to find it.” Frank finally spoke up, “Dewees and I can comb the place in no time.”  
Poison agreed, nodding slowly, “Sorry, Bob.”  
“It’s not your fault,” Bob patted his shoulder, “You did great, Poison. Shit, I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”  
“And I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” Poison laughed, though it turned into a cough, “We’d all be dead if it weren’t for you.”  
Bob shook his head, smiling, “Just get some rest, Poison. I’ll take care of your pardons with Grant once we find the bag.”  
“I trust you,” Poison mumbled, already laying back down, “See you, Bob.”  
“See you.” Bob nodded, standing when Poison was asleep, almost as soon as he’d laid down. “Sorry we had to interrupt you guys, Mikey, Frank. We’ll comb the station. You can stay put, Iero.”  
“No,” Frank shook his head, “There’s only so much I can do here. That’s the first time he’s been awake since he came in and my first fucking words to him were...whatever the hell it was, just bullshit. I can’t stand waiting around here while he rests anymore. I’ll come back and look for the bag. I know most of his hiding spots, maybe we’ll get lucky and find it fast.”  
Brian looked Frank over and Bob felt strange, that Brian thought Frank was worth a look over before he was allowed back into the station.

“Fine,” Brian finally agreed, “You can come with us. But listen here, Iero, if you take one wrong step, you’re on your ass. This stunt has got you on my bad side.”  
Frank didn’t apologize, but he looked a little bit ashamed. Enough that Bob didn’t say anything when he stood and Frank moved under his arm to help support him. Frank helped him to the door of Hurley’s office, where Patrick was standing impatiently.

“Bob, I’ve got bad news.”  
“My favorite kind,” Bob grunted, letting Frank help him onto Parade’s back. Brian followed them out, looking around like Pedicone was going to jump out of the alleys.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asked once he’d deemed the street safe enough.

“Grant just wired half an hour ago. Korse is on his way. Grant isn’t sure when he’ll be here, but he’s at most twenty minutes away. Grant’ll be here as soon as he can be, but Korse is gonna make it here before him.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Bob slammed his fist into his leg, “Why is he coming here?”  
“The dam didn’t go down. He must have given it a few days to see if there was a delay, but nothing's happened,” Frank looked towards the entrance of Northern Downpour, at the dust cloud just visible over the horizon, “He’ll be here soon, to see why his plan didn’t work. Probably take it into his own hands.”

“Bob,” Patrick caught his attention, sounding too serious for Patrick to ever have to be again, “Grant said Korse’s guns are missing. Grant thinks he’s bringing a posse.”

Brian cursed loudly for Bob, because Bob didn’t think he could put enough emotion behind a single word to convey his irritation and worry.  
Bob took a breath and thought for a moment, “Okay. I guess this is the showdown everyone’s been wanting. Frank, you and Dewees get looking for that bag. When you find it, take it to Grant. Bargain for Poison’s pardoning of any crimes he may or may not have committed in Northern Downpour and any charges the Morrison company might want to serve him with. Grant shouldn’t put up a fight but, just in case, get Pete ready to argue on Poison’s behalf.”  
“Pete’s Grant’s lawyer.” Brian shook his head, “He’s commissioned to Grant, and Korse for that matter.”  
“Then get Bill,” Patrick offered, “He’s not taken his bar exam yet, but you don’t need a lawyer. You need someone to argue on Poison’s behalf and Bill can talk just as pretty as Pete.”

“Then get Bill,” Bob agreed, “Just in case. I don’t think it’ll be a problem, but I want him there just in case. Remember, you’re talking to the mayor as a citizen with information, not as a deputy with proof of crimes. When he takes the deal, come tell me, then I want you and Dewees on him like fucking honey. Korse isn’t to get eyes on Mayor Morrison.”  
“Okay.” Frank nodded, looking a little doubtful, but willing to go with it, “Anything else?”  
“And what about us?” Brian frowned, “What are we going to do?”

“I made a promise not to do anything stupid without you, right?” Bob grinned at Brian, feeling a little like he was jumping off the deep end. “We’re going to confront Korse. If he’s bringing a posse into town, I’m taking it as a threat and responding.”

“You’re going to confront Korse.” Brian said carefully, like he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard right.

“Are you with me?” Bob asked, offering his hand. He felt like he was back in his dream except, this time, the positions were reversed. He needed Brian to take his hand, knew he couldn’t do this without him, and so he waited patiently.

Brian reached out and took it, their palms together, fingers around wrists.

“You’re an idiot, but I’m with you.”  
Sorrow, having slunk out of the office while they spoke, curled her way around Brian’s legs, pressed her head to Brian’s shoulder.

“I think Sorrow wants to go with you.” Frank smiled, looking at Brian almost nervously. “She’s timid, but she’s strong and fierce when someone she loves is threatened.”  
“Are you sure, Sorrow?” Brian frowned, resting his hand against her head but barely acknowledging Frank. Bob tried not to notice his crushed expression. Hurt feelings on all sides would be soothed when everyone was out of danger, but he still felt for Frank. Brian was obviously important to him and his approval was something Frank and Dewees, and even Sorrow to some extent, worked for and reveled in often. It was unusual that Brian withheld it from either of them, but Frank had obviously pissed him off earlier and it would take some groveling and apologizing to get back on his good side. All the same, now wasn’t the time, so Bob focused back on the situation at hand.

Sorrow made a cooing noise into Brian’s jaw and Bob nodded, “She can come then. She’s pretty fast. If Brian needs to get back here for some reason, he can.”  
“I’m not leaving you.” Brian glared at him and Bob was glad that Brian’s angry looks were on his side.

“I said _‘if’_ ,” Bob stressed, unable to stop the stupid smile on his face. “Let’s go. This is going to be over by tonight, if it’s the last thing I do.”  
“Don’t say shit like that.” Patrick groaned, “You’re a curse, Bob Bryar. A curse.”  
“We’ll see,” Frank started walking towards the station, “Good luck, guys.”  
“You, too.” Bob called after him. He turned to Patrick, only to be yanked into a hard, scared hug.

“You’re such an ass.” Patrick muttered into his shoulder, once Bob had wrapped his arms around Patrick and squeezed him.

“Sorry,” Bob smiled, pressed his face into Patrick’s neck and breathed him in, took comfort in his familiar smell, the familiar warmth in his stomach - the same as always but, somehow, just a little bit different. “I’ll be okay.”  
“I know.” Patrick carded a hand through Bob’s hair, like he did when they were kids and Bob was upset, “You have Brian to watch out for you.”  
“Yeah,” He nodded, “He’ll keep me safe. Once you send Bill and Pete off to where they need to be, warn everyone in town. No one leaves their buildings until it’s safe, got it? We’re on lockdown.”

“Pete’s at home with Folie and Duex,” He muttered, though Bob knew he was just trying to normalize everything, make it seem like a normal conversation so he’d keep his cool.

Patrick nodded again, jerkily, and righted himself, made sure Bob was steady on Parade after having yanked him so far down for his hug, and turned to Brian. He was trying to keep a strong face, which made Bob smile again, when he pointed a serious finger at Brian’s chest and threatened, “You’d better watch his back, Schechter, or-or you’ll have trouble.”

Brian smiled, amused and fond, “I promise, I’ll watch out for him.”  
Patrick nodded again and scrubbed his face, “Good. If something happens to either of you, you’ll never hear the end of it from me.”

He was off with another stern look between them, to find Bill and, hopefully, a way to get Grant to town faster than he’d otherwise be.

When he was out of sight, into Liberty and Legality, Brian pressed his hand to Bob’s arm and hesitantly looked into the distance.  
“What are we gonna do?”  
“I need a gun.” Bob asked, “Do you have one?”

Brian pulled his out without answering and handed it over, “Revolver, six bullets. It’s all I’ve got other than my two shooter. You had to key to the arsenal and it wasn’t on you when you came back.”  
“It’ll work.” Bob pressed his hand against Parade’s shoulder, his fingers tapping against her, “How long do you think you could hold it if I gave you the whole pouch?”  
“Half a pound of coal?” Brian stared at him, not quite sure how to respond to that. Parade just snorted at him like that was all the answer he needed. And, really, it was.

“We’re going to scare the hell out of them. Just long enough for Grant to get here and for Frank to get Poison’s pardon.”

Sorrow tweeted at Bob, still wrapped around Brian’s legs and waist. Her wings expanded, reaching out to their full length - each the size of Bob’s arms stretched to their limits and Bob watched. Surrounding Brian, her head perched on his shoulder and her wings expanded, the gashes of blood-like red bright in the sunlight of the day, she looked intimidating, formidable.

“Perfect.” Bob grinned, nodding at her, “If only Frank and Dewees could see you now.”  
“They’re proud,” Brian rubbed her chest, up to her neck, “I’m proud.”  
She preened under his touch and dropped her wings, leaning up to nuzzle into his hair.

“We’ll meet them at the sign. Give the town some time to get their shit together in case this goes south.”  
“Let’s hope it doesn’t go south, then. This situation is hot enough, already." Brian ran a hand through his hair, resituated his hat, and started walking for the sign. Sorrow followed him, unwrapping herself from his legs so he could walk unhindered but not leaving his side. Bob would have loved to be by him, show strength through his ability to stand on his fucking own two feet, but he’d pushed his muscles far past their limits in the last few days and they were done with his shit. So he stayed on Parade and let her carry him, following after Brian determinedly until they’d made it to Brian’s side. It wasn’t noon, though not far from it, and the shadows of the sign weren’t stretched far - just enough for the four of them to take shelter from the burning sun. Bob spared a moment to fiercely miss his hat and the bandana he hadn’t had time to find and tie around his neck. It was stupid, but it almost felt like confronting Korse without either of them left him naked. They were both gifts from Patrick and made him feel protected, like he belonged to the town and the town to him.

Still, it was a stupid thing to think about and he focused his attention back on the matter at hand without difficulty.

“Scared?” Brian asked him, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, “I mean, this is pretty serious. No one has ever confronted him before, not even Grant.”  
“I’m probably nervous,” Bob admitted, “Underneath the anger. There’s a lot of anger, though, so I can barely feel the nerves.”  
“That’s good.” Brian nodded, “Just stay pissed.”  
“Don’t worry about that,” Bob slid off of Parade’s back, using her to support most of his weight but freeing her up for when she needed to move, “Staying pissed off as never been a problem for me.”  
Brian rested a hand against Bob’s arm, his fingers tapping against Bob’s skin, “If something happens…”  
“Don’t worry,” Bob nudged him, “I already told Poison my final messages to pass around if I die.”  
“Final messages…” Brian laughed, shaking his head, “I never thought...I’m finally going to get my revenge for Matt. Either way, Korse is going down today.”  
“He is,” Bob agreed, fingers tightening around the gun’s handle, “Because if Grant doesn’t take the deal, I’m going to kill him.”  
“Shit, Bob,” Brian squeezed his arm, looking at him fully, “You’ll be-”  
“Protecting you.” Bob shrugged, “I’d do it immediately if Poison didn’t need the pardons. As it stands, Korse is lucky the law is on our side because if it wasn’t, I’d make it be.”

“What kind of lawman doesn’t respect the law?” Brian teased, and the fondness in his voice made Bob feel warmer than the sun.

“The kind that was a bounty hunter first. The law’s pretty flexible when you need it to be.”

The dust cloud was growing larger and Bob could feel Brian tensing up every second that passed, the hostility and repressed rage. Bob locked their fingers together for a short second, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“It ends today.” He repeated, steady and firm, and watched Brian’s shoulders relax marginally.

“I know.”

Sorrow chirped at them, sounding a little strained, and the source of the dust cloud was finally visible: a tall, dark figure leading on a blindingly white dragon and a crew of men behind him, numbering in the low teens at most but looking menacing on the backs of their companions. Bob felt Brian’s hand tighten on his arm and then go lax and fall off, falling to Brian’s side where Bob knew the smaller, two shooter pistol was hidden. Brian wasn’t known for being unprepared and Bob didn’t doubt that he would make those two shots count.

Parade’s spikes unsheathed and she straightened her whole body, tail low and swaying back and forth. Smoke rose from her horns and nostrils, filling the air with the scent of sulfur and dragon fire, familiar to Bob to the point he barely noticed.

Korse stopped a few yards from Bob, not dismounting but looking unamused.  
“Bryar.”

“Mister Morrison.” Bob nodded, “You’ve come at a bad time.”  
“Not as bad as it could be,” Korse said darkly, looking Bob over with disdain, “I heard you were dead.”  
“You heard wrong.” Brian said shortly, “What the hell are you doing here, Korse?”

“To take what is mine.” Korse snapped back at him, like Brian wasn’t even worth the small inkling of faux-respect he offered Bob, “The land this sorry excuse of a town is built on.”  
“Sorry,” Bob stood straight and took a step forward. Every muscle in his body wanted to tremble, to give out under him, but he locked every fucking inch of bone and tendon and vein he could and made himself steady as a beating fucking drum, “But that won’t be happening. Now, or ever. We know about the oil, about the dam. About all of it, Korse. Face it: You’re through.”

“Through?” Korse laughed. It was an ugly sound, mocking and angry, “Oh no, Bryar. I’ve not even begun. When I’m _through_ , you’ll be lucky if you can even find proof of this place on a _map_ , let alone proof that it once stood on Morrison land.”  
“The Morrisons’ don’t own this land,” Brian sneered at him, losing his temper, “ _You_ don’t own this land, and the only way you’ll get your grimy, greedy hands on a fucking particle of sand from this property is over the dead body of every, single citizen of Northern Downpour.”  
“You make it sound like that can’t be arranged, Schechter.” Korse motioned with his left hand, free of the leather reins attached to his companion. A man came forward from the posse behind him. He drew his gun almost faster than Bob had but it was a draw to who pointed first. Bob had faced down many a gun barrels and his aim was firm, not a shake to his fingers - the cowboy, on the other hand, gulped. Bob watched his Adam’s apple bob frantically and didn’t try to guess his story, his age or what had brought him to where he was now. He didn’t want to, but he’d put one of the eight bullets he and Brian had through his head in a second if it protected Northern Downpour. If it protected the people Bob cared about.

Killing Korse or any one of his lackeys would be the most extreme thing he’d done in the name of those he loved, but it wasn’t _the_ mostextreme thing he’d do by far if it meant they were safe and happy.

“You have ten seconds to drop that gun,” Brian said without preamble, “Or you’re going to die and there’s nothing Korse can do about it.”  
“You drop that gun,” Korse seethed, “And Sheriff Bryar is the last thing you’ve to worry about.”

The man waivered for just a second, but his gun stayed steady.

“Are you sure that’s the way you want this to go, Korse?” Brian raised his hand, his small pistol held firmly aimed at Korse. “Because he won’t be the only one to lose his life in this situation.”

“Schechter,” Korse looked him over, the hatred plainly visible, “You and your little brood of misfits have been a thorn in my side since you started sniffing around my business. If your friend had just kept his nose out of where it didn’t belong, maybe he’d still be alive right now. I would suggest you do the same before-”

The click of the safety on Brian’s gun silenced him. Bob wanted to reach out, calm Brian down because he knew that look on Brian’s face and it did not bode well for Plan A, a.k.a Arrest Korse Instead of Killing Him. Bob wanted for this whole thing to be over, but just like he knew that that wasn’t possible, he knew touching Brian would be a bad idea. Instead, he followed Brian’s lead and cocked his gun.

“ _Don’t_ talk about Matt.” Brian finally got out through gritted teeth, “He was the best person I’ve ever met and he was more of a man than you could ever even hope to be. He did everything for this town and you _killed_ him. You killed him and you killed his wife and if he hadn’t hidden Bullets, you would have killed him, too - all because he was getting suspicious of you. Worst of all, he was right and I didn’t believe-” Brian took a halting, uneven breath. Sorrow drew up, spitting smoke and ember at Korse’s companion at the mention of her mate. She looked angry, more vicious that Bob could have ever imagined her before. Brian hand shook, but his aim never left from Korse’s chest, “I didn’t believe him. If I had, maybe this would have all turned out differently. You’d be gone, that’s fucking sure.”

Bob didn’t react to that bit of information, mostly because they would be discussing it later once Korse had been taken care of and Bob had had the chance to process it - both Bullets’ roots and Brian’s guilt. He tightened his grip on his gun, felt the trigger under his finger and the way his tense muscles were beginning to strain under his skin. Parade nuzzled her face into his hip and the drawstring holding the coal pouch together snapped under her teeth.

Korse didn’t say anything, watching Brian with a new feeling behind his cold stare. Before, he’d looked at Brian like a pest, like an annoyance. Now he looked at him sharply, like Brian had become dangerous to him - a problem that would need to be dealt with.

Bob didn’t like that look, more than he didn’t like Korse’s usual looks. He shifted and it caught Korse’s attention, pulling his eyes back to Bob.

“It’s over Korse. You need to let this go because you’ve lost.”  
“Lost?” Korse laughed again, sounding angrier than before, “You’ve got nothing on me, Bryar. I just came to check up on the Sheriff of my brother’s town, only to discover that a pack of outlaws had attacked and burnt everything to the ground. It was all so terrible. Worst of all was how many dead I discovered. Most tragic of these, the town Sheriff and his pet circuit judge, who died in a heroic showdown at the entrance of the town. That, of course, could be avoided, if you hand over the outlaw Party Poison to be dealt with accordingly. After all, the worst of crimes can be avoided through the timing of the strangest things - say, the arrival of an influential and respected public figure.”

“The problem with that,” Brian tilted his gun, “is the gun I’ve got on you, Korse. How do you explain the bullet hole in your chest if it kills you? Because you aren’t getting Poison.”

“This is a game of chicken, I’m afraid.” Korse shrugged, looking remarkably relaxed for someone with a gun on him, “You see, Schechter, if you shoot me, my friend shoots Sheriff Bryar and I just don’t think you’d be willing to risk him.”  
“You want to bet your life on it?” Brian sneered, straightening up. But Bob saw the hesitation, the miniscule drop of his gun. Bob saw it and Bob knew Brian wouldn’t do it - wouldn’t kill Korse if it meant Bob could be hurt. Bob saw it and, for just a second, Korse saw it too. He started to laugh, loud and triumphant like he thought he’d won.

Out of the corner of Bob’s eye, something flashed until he turned, glancing at the building that made up McCoy’s practice. Frank’s familiar figure, too short to be anyone else with a silver star on his shirt, made itself known. Bob focused his eyes, narrowed them until he could see Frank almost clearly. Frank shot him a thumbs up and Bob gripped Parade’s horn, squeezed gently and let go.

Parade took the opportunity of Korse’s distraction to crunch through the coal she’d been piling into her mouth while Brian had been talking to Korse. She reared back, away from Bob, and smoke spewed from her like she was an erupting volcano. Fire began to crackle and pop along the seams of her mouth, rising from the gaps between her fangs and escaping through her horns and spikes.

“Parade,” Bob smiled, dropping his gun to his side, “Catch.”

Parade caught.

She was a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t insanely pissed, so to have the full brunt of her fury set upon him had the man with the gun running for a life she wasn’t in the mood to spare. His partners all pulled their guns at once and Bob was lifting his again, shooting at a tall man’s hands and another’s arms, both losing their grips and falling off their companions without the support of their limbs.

Korse took off, deeper into town, and Bob almost followed but, as he was turning, one of his knees gave out and he fell into a kneel, his legs burning like the fire Parade was unleashing on the men around her.

“Brian!”  
“I got it,” Brian nodded, pressing a hand against Bob’s shoulder, “I’ll get him.”  
“Alive,” Bob ordered, “Alive if you can.”  
“I will.” Brian nodded, though he didn’t sound happy about it. He swung onto Sorrow’s back, and Bob was grateful that Brian was small, only a little bigger than Frank, because it meant that Sorrow could move fast. They shot off after Korse and Bob turned back to his own fight, to Parade screeching fire from her lungs and into the throng of outlaws. He shot into the group and a man called out in pain, blood splattering to the white sand behind him as he drooped over his companion. The dragon screamed, throwing its head back to be heard about Parade’s own cries, and turned tail to run - away from Parade and Bob and the town.

“Follow suit or you’re not going to be so lucky!” Bob yelled, aiming into the group again.  
“And deal with us!” A familiar voice joined him. Bob looked over his shoulder and Mikey nodded at him, holding a brightly painted gun in his hand. Killjoy set next to him, looking amused at the display of Parade - burning bright and ripping into whatever dragon or human flesh came across her jaws. Behind him, eight people he hadn’t expected to see stood with their own guns drawn and at the ready. Lindsey and Kitty stood at Mikey’s back, giving Bob identical innocent smiles, while Jimmy, Holy Man McCracken and Holy Man Howard stepped into his space.  
“Go after Korse and Brian,” Bob ordered as soon as he’d been helped up, “I don’t know if Brian will be able to stop himself if Korse opens his fucking mouth,”  
“Dan, Quinn, Steve,” Mikey looked over his shoulder, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “Go after Brian. Make sure Korse stays alive, if it can be helped.”

Bob didn’t bother watching them go. He leaned against Holy Man Howard and tried to breath, tried to catch air in his lungs despite the angry aches spasming through him.

“We’ll take it from here, Sheriff,” Holy Man McCracken smiled, patting his shoulder.

“Killjoy will help you.” Mikey nodded and Killjoy slid next to Bob, let Bob settle against him to stay on his feet, “We’ll take care of these guys. It’s high time we started protecting more than just the dragons on the ranch.”  
“I should have known,” Bob shook his head, “An outlaw needs a crew. I should have guessed it would be you guys. I didn’t see the Holy Men, though.”  
“We’re usually a peaceful folk.” McCracken laughed, sounding a little too gleeful as he brandished his weapon, “That’s why I’m pulling out the good ole’ Peacemaker.”

With that, Kitty took point next to Bob and Lindsey followed her crew into the fray, shooting and tying, knocking men off their companions and fucking either or both of them up enough to tie without difficulty. Mikey stood next to Bob, a hand on his revolver but otherwise relaxed next to him.

“What made you decide to reveal yourself?” Bob finally asked, watching as Poison’s crew cleaned up the mess Korse had brought to their front door.  
“We finally decided there was a Sheriff good enough to know who we are. Protecting the dragons on the ranch has always come first, because the people in Northern Downpour do a good enough job of protecting themselves. And with the Sheriff problem, the law was never on our side like it needed to be for us to do both. But you, Sheriff Bryar, are good news, and we want to keep you.”  
“Can’t do that if I’m dead,” Bob smiled a little, nodding, “Thanks, Mikey.”  
“Just make sure my brother stays safe,” Mikey said in lieu of answering, “He really likes being a Deputy, and all the danger it has started to entail being under your command.”  
“I’ll look out for him.” Bob promised, “Though I can’t promise Frank won’t get to me first if something happens.”  
“Frank and I have an agreement,” Mikey laughed, crossing his arms as Parade trotted over, smoke still rising from her mouth and ears, panting.

“You did great, sweetheart,” Bob opened his arms and she fell into them, shoving her smoke-smelling face into his until their foreheads were flat together. She purred and keened at him until he laughed, then wrapped herself around him so he could stop leaning against Killjoy.

The five of them watched as Poison’s crew made short work of Korse’s. When all of the men had been secured and their dragons cowed into an intricate rope chain Jimmy had learned from the Cab cowboys, who came into town when runs were over.

“Take them to the cells,” Bob finally decided, “We’ll transport them to the city for proper punishment once their ringleader has been captured. He’ll turn on them fast enough, so I don’t see them being anyone’s problem long.”

“You heard him, guys!” Mikey clapped his hands together, smirking, “Get these fucking pigs to the slammer. The judge and jury’ll deal with them, because we sure as Hell don’t have to.”

Bob scrubbed at his face and let Poison help him onto her back, “I have to go after Brian.”  
“My guys can take care of it,” Mikey argued, giving him an unimpressed look, “Bob, you can’t even stand. What are you gonna do?”  
“I don’t know,” Bob shrugged, “Sit and look pretty. I need to find him.”  
Mikey gave him a critical look, up and down, and shook his head, sighing, “Killjoy and I will go with you. He’s a good tracker, we’ll catch up in no time.”  
“I doubt he’d of left the town. He’ll be looking for somewhere to hole up.”  
“He’s headed residential,” Bob frowned, getting a firm grip on Parade’s shoulders. They needed to go fast, fast enough to catch up with Korse before he signed his own death certificate with Brian’s gun, “Nowhere to hole up.”  
“Everyone would be at work,” Mikey agreed, “He’ll have to break into a stranger’s house.”  
“Unless he knows where someone lives, specifically,” Bob pointed out, “But who would-”

He stopped, taking in a sharp gasp.  
“Bob? Bob, what’s wrong?” Mikey asked, leaning over worriedly to touch his knee, “What?”  
“Pete.” Bob breathed, “Pete and the twins are home. If Pete’s lit the fire to make lunch-”  
“He’ll see the smoke, know someone is home in _their_ home, find the Naga,”  
“Parade, go!” Bob shouted, panicked.

Parade lurched forward, strong legs propelling them into speeds that almost had Bob reeling off of her. He leaned down, clung to her and did his best to hold on tight. Killjoy and Mikey surpassed them quickly, Killjoy’s nose stronger than Parade’s after burning fire through her nostrils for so long, and the four of them followed the trail left behind by their friends. It didn’t take long and, as Bob feared, it quickly became obvious that Korse had seen the smoke rising from Pete and Patrick’s house and followed it. He could see the last of the smoke leaving now, even from Harmless Venom, and the crowd of people and dragons stationed around the small home. He did a head count and, though there was Sorrow’s familiar stature, there was someone missing and Bob didn’t have to think to know who it was.

Parade skidded to a stop close to the structure, seconds behind Killjoy, and Bob slid off of her - a new shot of adrenaline keeping him upright. There would be hell to pay later, and his body would make sure he paid every cent of it, but for now, Brian and Pete, Corktree and the Naga were all he could care about.

“Where is he?”  
“Korse went in and Brian went in after them. It’s been silent since.”  
“Has Pete said anything?”  
“No.” Steve shook his head, “We surrounded the house. If they’re talking in there, it’s calm enough that we can’t hear it from out here.”  
“Shit,” Bob shivered, cracking his fingers to loosen them up. He patted Brian’s gun at his side, mentally counted the bullets left. Two, maybe one if he had miscounted.

“Parade, stay here. Anyone comes close, you stop them, okay?”

She shoved her head into his hand but made an agreeing, clicking noise he knew he could trust. She was shaking, rage and worry for Folie and Duex, for Corktree and Bob and Pete and Brian. He crouched and pressed their foreheads together, a silent ‘trust me’ that she understood and agreed to.

“Bob, don’t-” Mikey started, but Bob waved him off as he started to walk to the house.

He approached the door slowly, making plenty of noise so anyone near the door would hear him. He knocked firmly, three sharp raps, and called through the door, “Brian? Pete?”

There was a silence that weighed on Brian’s chest like the rocks from the cave in for what felt like years and years to him, before the door was slowly opened and a smiling Korse answered him.  
“Sheriff Bryar.” He said pleasantly, like Bob had knocked on his own door for a nice conversation, “Please come in.”

Bob took a breath and entered.

Inside was dim. There was a pot on the table, settled on some sort of cloth to keep it from burning the table. Pete had probably been making lunch for Patrick, Ray and Weapons, something he did every few days since he could take however long he wanted for lunch. Bob’s eyes fell to the bed of hay in the corner of the room. Usually a curtain was drawn, blocking the corner - and the sleeping Naga - from view, but the curtain had been ripped down and pooled on the ground in a disaster of fabric. A few embers had burnt into the hay and a small corner of the bed had been burnt away.

“Where are they?”  
“Who?” Korse asked innocently, arms behind his back and standing straight. Arrogance oozed off of him and, just for a moment, Bob saw the snake in the grass that Korse was.

“My friends,” Bob snapped, “Brian, Pete, Corktree, Folie and Duex. What did you do with them?”  
“Nothing, yet, Sheriff. Come with me, gun on the table, please.”  
Bob followed, placing Brian’s gun on the table as he passed it. Korse led him into the guest room, where Brian and Pete had been tied together. Corktree and Folie were pressed into a corner, while Korse’s dragon set by the entrance of the room, it’s claws against Duex’s neck. She was laying on her stomach, her tail squirming unhappily but otherwise completely still.

“Bob!” Pete started, sounding relieved, “You’re here.”  
“Hey, Pete.” Bob nodded, “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Pete wiggled in his bindings, “I’m good.”  
“Brian?” Bob said tensely, “Are you okay?”  
“Fine,” Brian snapped shortly, “Fan-fucking-tastic, Bob. Just a little tied up at the moment.”  
“Good.” Bob smiled a little, “It’ll be easier to keep my eye on you, then.”  
“Watch yourself, Bryar,” Brian shot him a glare, but it was tinged with an underlying amusement that made Bob grin for just a second. The room was tense though, Deux's precarious position worrying enough to suck the flippancy from the situation.

“You need to let them go, Korse.” Bob turned to Korse, clenching his fists, “You’re surrounded and no matter what goes down in this room, you’re going to jail. Or worse.”

“That’s where you are incorrect, Sheriff,” Korse patted his shoulder, like they were friends, “Because I feel like the advantage is mine in this situation. Mister Wentz and Schechter, the Sheriff, not to mention my missing Naga. I should have known you knew where they were. I’d nearly given up hope that Party Poison had kept them nearby. I’m pleased to see I was wrong, this once.”  
“What do you want Korse?” Bob frowned, “Escape? Because I don’t think I can guarantee that, not even for who you have in this room.”

“Not escape,” Korse shook his head, “I was thinking more...last stand. I understand when I haven’t won, Bob. But I never lose.”

Bob took a step towards him, anger mounting, “You piece of shi-”  
Deux let out a bleating cry, scared and hurt and Bob turned on his heels so fast he almost lost his balance. Deux cowered under the white dragon’s claw, a thick drop of red sliding down her shoulder. Folie screeched in outrage, sounding like an eagle, but Corktree’s fearsome roar drown him out. Bob could hear Parade’s own noise of fury from outside and he didn’t think it would be long before she burst through a wall to defend her adopted brood - Korse or no.

“Stop,” Bob shouted, holding his hands up, “Stop, I’m sorry!”

Korse waved his hand and the claws were retracted. Deux continued to make soft, pleading little sounds that broke Bob’s heart. If Patrick hadn’t known his companions were in trouble, he would now and he would be on his way to their location, fast.

“Apologies accepted, Sheriff.” Korse smiled magnanimously, “I understand that we all do things in the heat of the moment. Now, as I was saying, this is a last stand situation. I’ve lost the town, and the money I could have made off of it, and I might have lost my Naga, but there is still something I want that is within your power to give me.”

Bob frowned, thinking about Korse’s words. What could he possibly give him that would make up for losing the oil under the town, and his company and freedom? What could be worth that?  
“Party Poison.” Bob finally understood, “You want Poison.”  
“I do.” Korse nodded, “I want him in this room, and  when he is, I’ll set all of them free - Naga, dragon, and these two upstanding innocents.”  
“I can’t give him to you,” Bob argued, his brain working rapidly to get all of them out of this situation, alive.

“You _will_ give me Party Poison, or I will kill each and every one of them!” Korse yelled, finally losing his cool, “You have ten minutes to give him to me or I’m going to skin that dragon alive!”

“I can’t!” Bob shouted back, “He’s out cold all the way across town! Even if I could get him to you, he’s too out of it to even understand what’s going on!”  
“Then figure out how to get him coherent!” Korse pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it at Brian’s head, Deux’s distressed crying going higher in pitch, “And then get him here, or Schechter’s brains will be the last thing you see of him!”

Bob looked at Korse’s gun and then at Brian’s head, his mouth dry and panic beginning to cloud his vision. He didn’t know how to get them out of it. He couldn’t think of a way around Korse’s demand and the countdown in his head was ticking steadily closer to the big boom that would kill them all.

“I-I can’t give you Party Poison,” Bob finally let all the air from his lungs in a loud exhale, his body loosening in defeat, “But I can give you someone close to him.”  
“Bob, don’t,” Brian snapped, beginning to struggle in his ropes, “Don’t you dare.”  
“I’ve got his crew, his brother, and his fiancé.” Bob listed, “Pick any of them, instead. Not Poison, but to lose any of them would...it would be worse than death, for him.”  
“You can’t!” Pete gaped at him, his big eyes rounding, “Bob, you can’t!”  
“I’m sorry,” Bob couldn’t look at them, “I have to. Those are your choices, Korse. It’s the best I can do.”

“Not quite what I wanted,” Korse sighed, dropping his weapon, “But I suppose, if it’s the best I can have...I want his brother. Come to think of it, I want his fiancé, as well.”  
“Two?” Bob hesitated, “That’s what you want? Mikey and Frank, in exchange for Brian and the rest?”  
“That’s the deal.” Korse nodded, “Are you sure you can come through?”  
“Positive.” Bob nodded, still not looking at Brian or Pete. He couldn’t imagine the looks on their faces. “It’ll take ten minutes to get them here, tops.”  
“Then get them here.” Korse licked his lips and holstered his gun, “Ten minutes, Bryar. The clock is ticking.”  
Bob nodded and turned, left them behind in the room and ignored their calls for him to come back - for him not to do what he was about to do.

Bob didn’t have much of a choice.

He left the house, closing the door firmly behind him.

Parade lurched into him as soon as he’d cleared the doorway, rubbing against him, somehow both in relief and angrily.

“Bob!” Patrick shouted from behind Jimmy and Steve, both blocking him from coming any closer, “Bob, where are Folie and Deux? Where’s Pete!?”

“They’re okay,” He reassured Patrick and Parade both, pressing against her shoulder gently, “I’ll make sure they’re okay.”  
“What did he want?” Mikey asked, moving closer to him. Bob waved him off and walked on, down the road from the house, so Korse couldn’t hear a word they said. Patrick left Steve and Jimmy to follow, looking too pissed for words.

“He wanted Poison,” He finally said, once they were far enough away, “In exchange, he’ll let them all go.”  
“Korse has my companions? He has my husband?” Patrick demanded, “Bob, what the fuck!?”  
“I know,” Bob nodded, catching Patrick’s hand when it began to swing around in his outrage, “I know, Patrick. I swear, I’ll get them out. I promise.”  
“How, though?” Mikey stared at him, “We can’t give him Poison. Even if we’d let you, he’s out cold.”  
“I know.” Bob hesitated, “That’s why I told him I’d give him you and Frank.”  
“You what!?” Patrick yelled, hitting him in the shoulder. Bob hadn’t seen him this mad since he and his father had argued for the last time about him marrying Pete. “You what, Bob!?”  
“Look, Mikey and Frank have a much better chance of surviving a fight with Korse than Pete, Folie, Deux, Corktree, or even Brian do. It’s the best I could do with a fucking gun to Brian’s head and a dragon on Deux.” Bob argued, wincing when Patrick slammed his fist into Bob’s arm again.

“You’re an idiot,” Patrick finally snapped, but he crossed his arms, looking angrily defeated, “Where is Frank?”  
“He’s with Grant.” Mikey said quietly, “I’ll get him.”  
“You have seven minutes to be in that house or he puts a bullet in Brian.” Bob said gently, “I swear, Mikey. We’ll all get out of his alive.”  
“As long as my brother is okay,” Mikey admitted, “I really don’t care about what happens to me.”  
“Mikey,” Patrick started, reaching for him. Bob closed his eyes and turned his head to give them some privacy. He’d seen the strange dance that Mikey, Patrick, and Pete had been doing with each other since the first night he’d come to Northern Downpour. It had hurt then, and it still stung a little now, that yet another person had managed to gain Patrick’s affections that wasn’t Bob, but not nearly to the extent that Bob had been hurt when Patrick had fallen in love with Pete. Besides that, Bob had Brian now, and what the felt for Brian was infinitely nicer to feel than how he’d felt for Patrick romantically.  
“Okay, Bob.” Mikey took a deep breath and Bob looked back to the, nodding at him again, “I’ll be back with Frank. We’ll knock on the door.”  
“I’ll be in the house.” Bob agreed. “We’ll send them out and you in, three for one, two for one.”  
“Got it.”

Mikey turned to go, Killjoy standing at the ready to fly across the road to get to town fast.

“And Mikey?” Bob called after him, keeping his voice low. Mikey turned back to him from Killjoy’s back, looking interested. “Tell Frank it’s show time.”

Mikey hesitated, then nodded and tilted his body over Killjoy’s, pressing down as Killjoy spread his dusty wings and took off, staying low but gliding over the road like a cloud.

“Show time?” Patrick frowned, looking a tiny bit teary eyed.

“They’ll be okay.” Bob said instead of answering, “I swear, I’ll take care of them, Patrick.”  
“I know.” Patrick sniffed, pressing into a hug that Bob couldn’t help but return, “You always take care of them for me, Bobby. You’re my best friend.”  
“Shit,” Bob said tightly, squeezing him tightly to strive off the panic under his skin, “Shit, Patrick. I love you, okay? If anything happens to me, I need you to know that.”  
“I do,” Patrick nodded, hiding his face in Bob’s shoulder, “I love you, too, Bob. You’ve always done everything in your power to make everything right. I know you can do this.”  
“I’m scared,” Bob admitted, his voice so low he wasn’t sure Patrick heard him.

“I know,” Patrick nodded, running his hand through Bob’s hair, “I know you are. But I know you’ll be okay. You’ll save everyone, just like you always do.”  
“What if I don’t?” Bob persisted, “What if I lose someone? Everyone?”  
“You don’t lose, Bob.” Patrick smiled, pulling back so he could lean up on his tiptoes and press a light kiss to Bob’s forehead, “You’ve never lost, and you won’t today. I’ll make sure Parade is okay out here. I have complete faith in you and we both know you can do this.”  
Parade keened at him to show her approval, wrapping around the two of them and shoving her head between them. Patrick laughed, scratching at her horns. Bob loved him fiercely, loved them both more than he could ever say. It was like the sun in his heart, burning him from the inside out and giving him strength he didn’t know he needed. He could barely feel the aches in his body, so far out of mind that they hardly registered and he knew that it was their faith in him, their love for him, that made it possible for him to stay strong.

“I don’t know how I could have gotten to here without the two of you,” He said softly, his arms around them both so he could feel them, alive and well, under him. He could die today, but as long as the two of them - and Brian - were happy and safe, he was sure he could die without regrets.

“I feel the same,” Patrick smiled, bright and angelic, “You’re my guardian angel, Bob.”  
“I’ll always be yours,” Bob chuckled, unable to stop from hiding his face in Patrick’s hair one last time, “You’re my best friend. I hope you don’t mind sharing, though. I think Brian and the others need me.”  
“I guess I could share with them.” Patrick nodded, still smiling, “I think they need you, maybe more than I do. Brian does.”  
“I need him, too.” Bob said, looking away from him, “I need him a lot. The thought of losing him...it terrifies me. I saw him when I was in the cave...he woke me up. If I hadn’t dreamt of him, I would have died.”

“Then I owe him a thank you. We all do.” Patrick cupped his face and made him look back at him, made their eyes meet, “I’m so glad you found someone to love, Bob. I was scared no one would ever be able to get through those walls of yours. I should have figured it would have taken a mule like Brian to do it.”  
“I’m glad, too,” Bob cleared his throat, “I’ve got to go. Tell Korse what’s going on, I mean.”  
“I know.” Patrick sighed, letting Bob go and stepping back. Parade fell into the space he’d vacated, looking less than pleased. “Be careful, Bobert.”  
“You, too, ‘trick. Whatever goes on in there, get the others to safety, okay?”  
“I will.” Patrick nodded, “And then I’m coming in to beat his ass.”  
“I don’t doubt it.” Bob squeezed Patrick’s wrist one last time and turned, pressing a palm to Parade’s forehead as he passed her. Patrick stayed back, watching him as he walked to the house again and knocked.

Korse answered without pause and let him in.

“Mikey and Frank are on their way. You’ll send the Naga and Brian out for Mikey, Pete and Corktree for Frank. You try to play anything, the deals off and they’ll shoot the place up.”  
“That will work,” Korse nodded, looking pleased, “They have five minutes.”  
“They’ll be here,” Bob said in passing, walking back into the guest room to check on his friends. Brian was staring at the floor, refusing to look at Bob as he walked in.  
“Bob, what’s going on?” Pete asked, sounding panicked. He was too close to a panic attack for comfort and Bob kneeled by him, touching his shoulder gently.

“Don’t worry.” He nodded towards the wall, “Patrick is waiting for you out there. He is worried sick, but he’s going to be brave. I need you to stay calm, okay?”  
“Okay.” Pete nodded, taking deep, gulping breaths, “I can do that.”  
“I know you can.” Bob nodded, “Here’s how it’s going to go, so both of you listen up. Frank is going to come in and I’m going to send you and Corktree out. When you’re safely away, they’ll send in Mikey and Brian and the twins are going to be freed. Once all of you are out, run. Do you understand?”  
“Yes.” Pete nodded, a little dazedly, “But what about you, Bob?”  
“Don’t worry about me.” Bob smiled a little, “Just worry about getting to Patrick and getting safe.”  
“But-” Pete started, before Bob covered his mouth.  
“Focus on keeping the twins and Patrick safe.” He ordered, “Do you understand, Pete? They come first.”  
“They come first.” Pete nodded slowly, “Okay, Bob.”  
“You’ve got to protect them when I can’t. Like you did while I was in Chicago.”  
“I will.” Pete agreed, sounding stronger, more present, “I’ll protect them.”  
“Good.” Bob nodded, “They’ll be here soon.”

Pete nodded, closing his eyes. Deux had finally gone quiet and Bob looked over to check on her, relieved when she looked at him tiredly, scared and hurt but knowing that she was going to be safe soon. Folie still looked ready to start a fight, but Corktree was controlling him well enough from the corner, until Parade could knock some sense into him. Bob took a breath, ready for the reaming Brian was going to give him, and moved to face him.  
“Did you hear the plan?”  
“The plan where you trade us for two other innocent people?”  
“The one where I saved your life and the lives of four others, including two baby dragons, in exchange for two others willing to trade.” Bob snapped, “Don’t try to argue with me. Just tell me you understand, Brian.”  
“I understand.” Brian said stiffly.

“Good.” Bob closed his eyes for just a moment, “When you get out, I need you to make sure Grant is okay. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Bob leaned back on his heels and covered his face with his hands, tried not to shake. His eyes burned. He couldn’t handle the look in Brian’s eyes, like he was betraying his fucking country or something.

“Their time’s almost up.” Korse came into the room, sounding irritated. His drew his gun, pointing it at Brian again, “A minute left.”  
“That’s a whole minute,” Bob snapped, “They’ll be here.”  
“Not fast enough,” Korse cocked the gun, the snap of the lever seeming to echo. Bob looked towards the front door desperately then back at Brian. What would he do if they were late? His breathing started to pick up.

“Thirty.” Korse started, “Twenty nine.”

“Get down here.” Brian whispered, bringing Bob’s attention back to him, “If I’m going to die, you’d better fucking kiss me one more time, Bryar.”

“Twenty five,” Korse said louder.

Bob leaned down, his hands coming to cup Brian’s face, tilt it up for a desperate, heated kiss. Brian kissed back like he was dying - and he was about to - all heat and teeth, leaning up into the kiss with a passion Bob was scared to think of. Bob took a deep breath through his nose, tried not to pay attention to the count down. He kissed Brian like it was the last thing he’d ever do, and forgot about the fact that it might be. He kissed him like he was telling Brian every last thing he had ever wanted to tell him, _I love you_ and _I’m so happy I met you_. _You’re the best thing to happen to me in so long_ and _I’m glad I got to kiss you one more time_.

“Ten,” Korse started, and the knock on the front door made Bob’s heart skip a beat.

Korse turned to go and Bob pulled away from Brian, sobbed into the small space between their lips and refused to admit that he tasted salt.

“Brian,” He said, a little desperately, “Brian,”  
“Bob,” Brian smiled, nudging him with his nose, “Go.”  
Bob nodded and stood, wiping at his eyes and putting on a strong face. He followed Korse out, relieved to see Frank at the front door.

He didn’t look confused, so Mikey must have told him what was going on. He could only hope Frank had understood his message. He looked unharmed but Bob tried not to feel hopeless.

“Frank,” Bob nodded, “Pete and Corktree for you.”  
“I understand.” Frank played with the untucked ends of his shirt.

Korse walked into the guest room and returned with Pete, roughly shoving him into Frank’s chest with Corktree close behind, looking reluctant to leave his hatchlings.

Frank caught Pete with a glare at Korse and righted him.

“Patrick’s waiting for you.” Frank said quietly and set Pete in the right direction. Bob saw Patrick shove through Jimmy and Steve and wrap his arms around Pete, kiss him hard before he leaned down to press a kiss to Corktree’s head. When he moved, Parade wrapped herself around Corktree and began nuzzling all over him. Mikey stepped next to them and Bob stopped looking to give them their privacy, once again. Instead, he welcomed Frank into their hostage situation with a pat on the shoulder.

“Sorry you had to do this.” He said quietly, not sure how to apologize for forcing someone into a situation like this.  
“It’s my pleasure,” Frank said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Mister Way is on his way,” Korse informed him, “Please bring Schechter, and the Naga into the room.”  
Bob hurried into the guest room, leaving Frank to watch Korse, and went to Deux, first.  
“You heard him, you overgrown lizard,” Bob snapped at Korse’s companion, shoving it off of Deux and immediately sweeping her into his arms. She clung to him, wrapping her tail around his arm and her neck around his shoulder, her claws digging holes into his shirt. Folie slithered over, scaled him, and wrapped his body around Bob’s shoulders and neck, nuzzling into his sister’s side and licking at her scrapes and cuts, hissing at the white dragon without fear - even when it hissed back.

Bob had to stay carefully balanced as he made his way to Brian, but he did make his way over and he offered a hand, which Brian allowed to lift him by his shirt collar. Brian pressed himself to Bob and kissed him again, ignoring the Naga between them. Bob leaned down to kiss him back, breathing him in and trying to retain the scent, in case it was the last time he got to smell it.

“I love you,” Bob said quietly, “Brian, I love you so much and I’m so fucking sorry,”  
“Shut up.” Brian kissed him again, inhaled like he was breathing Bob in too, “Shut up, Bob. I love you, too.”  
“Mikey’s here.” Bob closed his eyes, enjoyed Brian pressed against him and the Naga wrapped safely around him, “It’s time for you to go.”  
“I know.” Brian nodded, “I trust you.”  
“That’s all I need.” Bob smiled, butting his head against Brian’s lightly before he turned to walk out.

Mikey stood close to the door, but far enough back to run at any moment. Korse had his gun drawn but wasn’t pointing it any anyone. That changed when Bob came back into the room.

“You come in and they leave at the same time.” Korse ordered, “My gun doesn’t leave Bryar’s head. One wrong move and he’s dead.”  
“I won’t run.” Mikey promised, sounding surprisingly calm for someone walking to their death at the hands of a crazed business man. Bob transferred the Naga to Brian’s shoulders, his movements slow so Korse didn’t get any ideas. When they were attached to Brian’s shirt, he stepped back and Brian started walking - the same pace as Mikey. The air was tense, not a sound made besides the shuffling feet of the two moving men. Brian paused at Frank’s side, just to whisper something that made Frank’s eyes water and then Frank hugged him tightly. Korse shoved at them and Frank pulled away so Brian could walk again, he and Mikey meeting in the doorway. Korse yanked Mikey inside and slammed the door shut, locking it before anyone could make a move. Bob backed up but the barrel of Korse’s gun found him anyway and didn’t leave.

“Well, isn’t this nice? Much less crowded.”  
“What do you want, Korse?” Frank glared at him, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them and letting them dangle at his sides awkwardly, a nervous tick. Mikey didn’t say a thing, standing, relaxed, a little behind Bob.

“I want to kill you.” Korse shrugged, “I want to hurt you and make Party Poison rue the day he heard my name and did not fear it.”

“What’s Bob got to do with that?” Mikey spoke up, nodding at Bob, “He’s an innocent in all this. It was my brother and I that ruined so much of your business.”  
“Sheriff Bryar is just as guilty as Poison, and that no good Sheriff from before. He and Pelissier are the same breed as you and your rat brother. And you,” Korse smirked at Frank, “You’re just here because it’s going to absolutely devastate him to lose his brother and his fiancé in one swoop.”  
“Let Bob go,” Mikey argued, “He’s got nothing to do with this.”  
“You aren’t in any place to be making demands,” Korse snapped back, “Just sit quietly while I take care of the Sheriff here, and he’ll be of no consequence to any of us anymore.”  
Bob closed his eyes and took a breath.

“Any last words, Sheriff?” Korse smiled and Bob could feel the slime even with his eyes closed.

“Frank,” Bob said, his hands clenching into fists, “It’s show time.”  
Korse paused, the gun lifting for just a moment. That was what Bob had been waiting for and he let his legs give out. He hit the floor and a gun went off, so loud in the room that he wasn’t sure where it had originated from. There was a burning in his thigh, but he wasn’t sure if it hurt enough to be a bullet or if he’d landed on it wrong. His body had gone numb a while ago and he wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

He pried his eyes open when Korse started screaming.

Korse dropped to his knees, holding his wrist in one hand, the other hand missing a few fingers and spewing blood just fucking everywhere. Bob rolled away and Mikey lifted his shirt, unraveled the small spool of rope he’d had tied around his waist and shoved Korse onto the ground.  
“Korse Morrison,” Frank intoned, dropping Brian’s two shooter to his side, “You are under arrest for _fucking with the wrong Sheriff,_ ”

Bob laughed, harder than he should have, and looked down. His thigh was bleeding, staining his jeans with wine red, and he laughed harder, until he was too tired to laugh anymore, too tired to stay awake.

-

“You’re lucky that it was another graze,” Hurley bitched for the tenth time Bob had been awake to hear, “You’re lucky you’re so fucking lucky, Bryar, or you’d be fucking dead.”  
“Sorry,” Bob intoned, “Really. So sorry.”

“Sorry?” Hurley scoffed, “You think I give a shit if you’re _sorry_? Pete and Patrick are two of my best friends and you’ve made them both cry today. I should sew you to the table.”  
“Well,” Bob smiled, “I’ll remember that next time.”  
“ _Next time_ , he says,” Hurley threw up his hands, careful not to yank the string of Bob’s stitches before he could tie it off and snip it.

“I’ll be more careful.” Bob promised, sitting up when Hurley turned away from him to put all of his tools into his bag to be cleaned.

“You’d better be.” Hurley snapped back, “You just wait until Joe gets a hold of you. You think a dentist is fun when he doesn’t hate your guts, just wait for your next toothache, mister.”

“I’ll grin and bear it, doc.” Bob said seriously, “My apologies.”  
“You’re a fucking smartass,” Hurley jabbed him in the chest with a finger, “And I don’t like it, Sheriff. Not one bit.”

He huffed and left the room, head held high and mustache on display for those willing to look. Bob watched him go in amusement and then leaned back to rest his eyes for a few minutes. Someone knocked on the doorway and Bob breathed out, opened his eyes. There were plenty of people he expected to see when he did - Patrick, Brian, Pete, even Frank, Mikey, or Poison. The last person he expected to see was Grant Morrison.”  
“Mayor.” He nodded, sitting up again, “Let me,”  
“Don’t get up on my account.” Grant waved his hand, sitting in the chair next to Bob’s bed. Bob hesitated, then settled back down, giving Grant a confused look.

“With Korse’s arrest, I’ve been able to approve his removal from the family company. This, of course, means that I will be able to hopefully convince Poison to reveal where he and his crew have hidden my assets and dragons, and that is thanks to you. In response to this, I’ve come to discuss your employment.”  
“My employment?”  
“It seems that Pedicone has been taken care of, as per our original agreement, and the town has been saved. When you took the job permanently, you mentioned that you would revisit the subject upon Pedicone’s capture, or in this case, death. I’ve come to clear up confusion.”  
“I’d like to stay,” Bob said quietly, pressing his fingers against his good thigh, “If that’s okay with you.”  
“I’ve enjoyed your stay as Sheriff.” Grant nodded, smiling, “and I believe I would enjoy your continuation at the post.”  
“Then I’ll keep the job.”  
“Great,” Grant nodded, leaning back, “Now, let’s discuss Party Poison’s pardon.”  
“He’s going to be pardoned.” Bob shot back immediately, “I don’t care, he’s done more than enough to save the town,”  
“I agree, I agree,” Grant held up his hands, laughing, “I was just wondering why Deputy Iero thought it necessary to bribe me for those pardons.”  
“He wanted to be absolutely positive that Poison would be safe.” Bob shrugged, “And now he is, with Korse in custody.”  
“I understand,” Grant nodded, thinking on it, “The papers are in your office, ready for your signature.”  
“Don’t those papers take weeks?”  
“I’ve had them prepared for quite a while now,” Grant shrugged, “But enough about Party Poison. I’ve got another concern. With your permanent acceptance, there is the matter of the...so called ‘fluff’ money I donate to the payroll. I take it you want none?”  
Bob opened his mouth to agree, because as good a guy as Grant was, Bob didn’t want to be under anyone’s thumb, but a familiar laugh from the streets outside stopped him short.

“Mister Morrison,” He started, but Grant waved him off.

“It’s just Grant, Bob. I’m sure we’ve come that far.”  
“Grant,” Bob nodded, “How much, exactly, were those Naga worth?”  
Grant blinked, frowning in thought, “Quite a lot, Sheriff. Of course, being older, their price has gone down quite a bit.”  
“Down enough that the fluff money paid for a career as Sheriff of Northern Downpour could buy them if it were, say, paid all at once?”  
Grant blinked at him again, not quite sure what to make of his question for a few, short, moments.

Then he smiled.

“Sheriff Bryar, are you asking if you can purchase my stolen Naga with a payment plan?”  
“I am.” Bob nodded, “They’ve bonded with Patrick. This is the only way I can think of to maybe give you the money back that you lost.”  
“Are you sure? This really isn’t necessary.”  
“I’m sure. Will it work?”  
“Of course,” Grant nodded, offering his hand, “The paperwork will be drawn up and made official within the week.”  
Bob clasped his hand and they shook. “Was that everything, Mayor?”  
“For now. You’ve got quite a recovery ahead of you.”  
“Me and Poison, both. He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up and sees what he’s missed.”  
Grant laughed, nodding, “I would assume so. I’ll see you later, Bob. There are a few people waiting to see you.”

“Have a nice day, Grant.”  
Grant tipped his hat at Bob and left. Frank slid in after him, watching him go for a few seconds before he moved to sit at Bob’s side.

“You’re an idiot.” He said, leaning over to flick Bob’s forehead. Bob reeled back, but caught himself before he fell.

“Hey!”  
“You should have just told me what you wanted me to do. You’re lucky Brian gave me his gun because I never would have figured it out.”  
“I knew you’d come through.” Bob shrugged, “You always have.”  
“You’re an idiot.” Frank repeated, “I was so pissed off at you. How were you sure I’d even save you?”  
“Because I know you.” Bob grinned, “And you like me, even if you were pissed as hell.”

“Ugh, don’t even look at me,” Frank wrinkled his nose, but he was grinning.

“How’s Poison?”  
“He’s waking up, every few hours.” Frank settled back into the chair, “He’ll be up and at ‘em by tomorrow morning, Hurley says.”  
“Great.” Bob nodded, “What are you going to tell him?”  
“That you saved everyone in this fucking town, and then did it again.” Frank smiled, shaking his head, “And that he’s a fucking pussy for sleeping through the second one.”  
“Great,” Bob repeated, “Make sure he knows I could have used his help that second time around. You and Mikey were good enough, though.”  
“Say that to my face, fucker,” Mikey drawled, leaning against the door to his room, “He’s up, Frankie. Asking for you.”  
“Shit, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, Bob. Your leg okay?”  
“It’s fine, just a graze. Korse’s finger slipped when you shot his hand. Go say ‘hi’ to your fiancé for me.”  
“I will,” Frank laughed, leaning over to hug him tight, “Get some rest.”  
“As soon as Hurley lets me out of this fucking place, I’ll get all the rest in the world.”  
Frank laughed and disappeared, high-fiving Mikey as he passed to go down the hall into Poison’s room.

“You’re really okay?” Mikey asked, once Frank had disappeared into his brother’s room.

“I’m great.” Bob nodded, “I just had to sleep for a few hours.”  
“A few hours?” Mikey laughed, “It’s been a little longer.”  
“A day, two days,” Bob shrugged, “Whatever. How’d the drive go?”  
“Brian, Lindsey and I rode in the wagon to transport them, the rest of the crew followed behind us to make sure we stayed safe until we hit the city. I’ve got a number of my contacts on it so none of them will be getting any special treatment, that’s for sure.”  
“Good.” Bob nodded, rubbing his neck, “Sorry I couldn’t be there.”  
“You were a little busy, recovering from two gunshot grazes, blood loss and extreme exhaustion,” Mikey rolled his eyes, “I’ll cut you some slack, this once.”  
“Thanks,” Bob smiled, taking a look towards the window, “Patrick is okay, out there?”  
“He, Pete, and the Naga are playing jacks.” Mikey explained, “He was here while you were sleeping, left about an hour ago to eat and take some time away. I’ll go get him, if you want.”  
“Let him enjoy himself,” Bob shook his head, “God knows he deserves it.”

“He does,” Mikey nodded, shaking his head a little. Parade grumbled from her place under Bob’s bed, where she’d been sleeping since Bob woke up half an hour ago.

“Where’s Brian?”  
“He’s at the station. Dewees and he have been in there all day trying to keep everyone calm now that Korse has actually been arrested. They’ve had different meetings all day, just explaining to everyone what happened.”  
“I should be there.” Bob set up, twisted his feet so he could stand up. Mikey hurried over and pressed hands to his shoulders, stopping him.

“Woah, woah! You need to stay down. You’re going to hurt something. Just rest, Bob. I know that’s hard for you, but you need to stay down.”  
“I’ll stay down at my home,” Bob argued, patting Mikey’s arm gently, “Just help me to the front door and Parade can take me the rest of the way.”

“Wait, just let me go ask Hurley. If he says it’s okay, I’ll help you to your apartment.”  
“Really,” Bob started, but Mikey waved him off and disappeared to find Hurley.

Bob sighed and looked at Parade, who gave him an unimpressed look. Corktree blinked up at him from where he was pinned under her, looking pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so smug,” Bob snorted, but Corktree just flicked his tongue at him while Parade settled her head back against his neck.

Hurley and Mikey came back minutes later, Hurley looking harassed and through with it.

“You’re an idiot, Bryar, but a stubborn one. If you can stand up, you can go home to rest.”  
“Thanks, Hurley.” Bob rolled his eyes and put weight on his feet. It took some doing, but he eventually was able to stand up and support himself long enough for Mikey to come to his side and take some of his weight. Hurley through his hands up in the air again and left with a  disgusted noise.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Bob squinted at his companion and her mate, “Help me get home.”  
Parade levered herself up and Corktree followed after her eagerly, their tails intertwining as they walked behind Bob and Mikey.

The sun blinded him for a few minutes, so he spent the time with his eyes closed working his way onto Parade’s back for the trek to the police station, and his bed.

“Bob!” Patrick cried, and Bob opened his eyes to see Patrick and Pete scampering over from a small circle of jacks and a little red ball. The Naga followed after, romping around in the sunlight and knocking each other over in their race to get to Parade. She leaned her head down to nuzzle them while Bob accepted Patrick’s hand to squeeze reassuringly.

“You’re awake!”  
“I’m awake.” Bob echoed Pete’s exclamation, laughing, “About half an hour ago. I’m going home to pass out.”  
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Patrick frowned worriedly, “What did Andy say?”  
“He said it was fine,” Bob paraphrased, “Mikey’s gonna help me into the apartment. You guys just stay and relax. Have you really been in my room the whole time?”  
“You were out for a while. We were getting worried. You were _shot_ , Bob.”

“Not the first time,” Bob reminded him, “Probably not the last, for that matter. Besides, I’m fine.”  
“You’re running on fumes,” Pete huffed at him, “Poison’s been recovering properly. By the time he’s up and running, you’re still going to be in bed because you won’t let yourself recover!”  
“I’ll be okay,” Bob grinned, “I mean, Pedicone and Korse are gone. For now, it’s just time to relax.”  
“You’ve cursed yourself, Bob.” Patrick despaired, “Go, go to your room before you curse everyone.”

“Yes, mother,” Bob smiled, squeezing Patrick’s hand again before letting him go, “I’ll see you later.”  
“Take care of him, Mikey,” Patrick said, sternly. Mikey nodded, not even cracking a smile and looking way too serious.

Parade nudged the twins off to Corktree’s side and started moving, slow and careful so she didn’t jostle Bob. Mikey walked by him, sans Killjoy but not looking worried.

“He’s watching over Gee and Frankie.” Mikey said when he caught Bob looking at the space where Killjoy would have been, “He’ll come if something happens.”

Bob nodded, relaxing against Parade’s back. The closer they got to the station, the more nervous Bob became. He hadn’t seen Brian yet, and he wondered if Brian was still mad at him, or if he understood that Bob had never meant for Mikey or Frank to get hurt. He was too tired to worry about it too hard though, could barely keep his eyes open by the time they were slipping around back to his staircase.

“I’ll tell them you’re here.” Mikey patted his leg, “Rest easy, Sheriff.”  
“You, too, Way. You’re a good guy. If I had to pick someone for them, it’d be you.”  
Bob didn’t stick around to see Mikey’s expression, but he caught the flush of his cheeks as Parade climbed the stairs. Bob pushed the door open, rarely locked, and Parade helped him into his bedroom, where he flopped - carefully - onto his sun-warmed sheets and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

It felt like minutes, though it was probably hours, later that the door of his bedroom squeaked open quietly. Someone made a soft, amused noise, and started shaking Bob awake.

“‘rain?” he mumbled under his breath, slitting his eyes open just wide enough to make out Brian’s familiar figure.

“You’ve been sleeping in those fucking uncomfortable office smocks.” Brian said gently. He helped Bob pull the smock off, and then settled him under the blankets. Bob almost slipped back to sleep, but he felt alone without Brian next to him, despite only having felt his skin against Bob's twice before. He patted at the side next to him and made a happy noise when Brian slid in next to him, without his clothes, and pressed against Bob’s hot side with his cool body. Eventually, Brian heated up and they curled together, Brian being careful of the bandages and bruises that littered Bob’s body. Pete had been right and Bob would be recovering for a lot longer than he would have needed had he been able to rest properly, but with Brian spooning against his back and his arms around Bob’s waist, his steady breathing against Bob’s neck and their legs tangled together, he felt like he was on the fast track to recovery.

He fell asleep feeling safe and warm, Brian’s fingers rubbing soothing, little circles against the small bit of skin that wasn’t damaged or bruised.

-

“With the power invested in my by quite a few different religious officials, I now pronounce you Mister and Mister Way-Iero! Kiss that fucking groom!” Holy Man McCracken shouted, throwing a handful of white rice at the happy couple. Frank excitedly threw himself Gerard’s arms, almost before Holy Man McCracken had even finished speaking, and shoved their faces together in a painful, fucking adorable kiss. Gerard wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist and lifted him up - heedless of the laughing and catcalling as Frank clung to him like an octopus, his legs anchoring around Gerard’s hips and his hair flying to the bright, newly dyed red of his hair.

Mikey shoved his brother and Dewees punched Frank’s shoulder until they broke apart - “For the _Children_!” Dewees cried - a newly married couple. The town cheered, though Sorrow, Bullets, and Revenge were loudest of all. Bob laughed from the front row, tipping his hat back with one hand and tightening his arm around Brian. The hat, a familiar black velvet-type material with a dirty white ribbon, and the well-loved revolvers had his hips at been a present from Frank for Frank’s wedding day - not quite how it usually went but Bob didn’t mind an exchange of presents if it meant he got his beloved hat and guns back. The flowers littering their hair were Bob and Brian’s presents - flowers imported from the east coast for the special occasion to give them both a little reminder of where they were both from.

Gerard let Frank fall back to his feet and they clasped hands tightly, turning towards their friends and adopted families with grins too wide to be comfortable. Bob couldn’t help but let his own smile twist his cheeks until they hurt. It was too much, seeing them so happy after seeing the despair on their faces only a few weeks ago. Brian sniffed at Bob’s side and Bob looked over, offering the handkerchief from his suit, “There, there.”  
“Shut up,” Brian snapped, snatching the cloth and rubbing at his eyes with it, “It’s just great, okay? I’m really - really happy for him. For them, both.”  
“Me, too.” Bob agreed, leaning down to kiss Brian lightly. He really couldn’t resist, not with white rice in Brian’s hair and his cheeks flushed with joy and whiskey from the open bar Harmless Venom had supplied for the occasion.

“Hey, Sheriff!” Gerard shouted from the front of the aisle, “Pay attention to us! We’re the happy couple today!”  
“You’re an eyesore!” Bob shouted back, tossing his own handful of rice at them. He laughed when it hit Gerard in the face, and Frank did too. He gave Bob and Brian a thumbs up as they started down the aisle, his eyes too bright to not be teary and his face so happy it almost took Bob’s breath. He and Brian turned to watch them follow the aisle, attacked on both sides by rice and - and Bob would bet money it was Gabe and Vicky - small toy snakes, and Bob caught Patrick’s eye. They were teary too, Pete a crying mess behind him, and Patrick winked at him. Next to him, Folie and Duex set straight, bowties around their throats being displayed proudly. Parade had been an honor guard, standing next to Killjoy and Weapons on Gerard’s side of the stage, while Revenge, Bullets, and Sorrow set on Frank’s. Ray had been the organizer, Gerard and Frank’s go-to for any and all questions, suggestions, and desires for the ceremony and Ray, who Gerard had revealed to be his best friend and secret confidant while he’d been on the run for years, had stood beside Mikey as Gerard’s best men. Dewees and Lindsey had been Frank’s best man and women. Bob had choked up when Brian gave Frank away, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

“Shit,” Brian sniffed again, grabbing Bob’s hand and squeezing tightly, “Shit, Bob. They’re fucking married. They survived and they’re-”  
“We all did.” Bob grinned, leaning down to kiss him again, “We’re all okay.”

“Thanks to you.” Brian laughed, wrapping him in a hug, “I really need to get around to thanking Patrick for being so persistent about hiring you.”  
“Please, don’t.” Bob complained, “Pete will never let you hear the end of it, forever.”  
“Worth it.” Brian teased, looking back towards Frank and Gerard, finally getting into the car Grant had hired for the occasion. They’d be going to New York for a few weeks, enjoying the sights and sounds of the big city and each other - all financed by Grant as a wedding present, a thank you and an apology all wrapped in one. When they got back, they would have a repaired and newly furnished apartment above S-and-T, a gift from Ray and Patrick.

“They’ll be okay.” Brian said quietly, leaning into it when Bob wrapped his arms around Brian and rested his chin on his head. The star on Bob’s chest nearly glittered in the sunshine, bright and eye catching. Bob thought back to those months ago, when he and Parade were alone and aimless in Chicago, without all of the great things and amazing people they’d come to know. It had been hard, harder than Bob had ever had to push through before, but in the end, the two of them had found a new home, a new family, a new reason to live.

“We’ll be okay,” Bob watched them drive off, the ‘JUST MARRIED!’ sign framed by cans banging together as they drove, and their companions flying low in the sky around them - a special day allowed by Grant for dragons in the sky to be allowed to stay there.

“I promise.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Both Feet and that Winding Knee
> 
> Blacklisted - Neko Case  
> Madrin Rain - The Pogues  
> TchavoloSwing - The Hot Club of Cowtown  
> Leaving/Caper/Spaceball - Greg Edmonson  
> River Waltz - Cowboy Junkies  
> Trenches - Patrick Doyle  
> Bodhran - Young Dubliners  
> Love Pipe - The Red Elvises  
> Ain't No Easy Way - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club  
> Counting the Stars - Nick Cave & Warren Ellis  
> Doolin Dalton [instrumental] - The Eagles  
> This Is Going to Hurt - Hans Zimmer  
> A Hard One to Know - Ben Gibbard  
> Sacred Funeral - The Red Elvises  
> I Fought the Law - The Clash  
> Rage and Serenity - Henry Jackman  
> Home - Robert Kral  
> The Wood Song - Indigo Girls  
> Mr. Fox In the Fields - Alexandre Desplat  
> Northern Downpour (alternate version) - Panic! At The Disco


End file.
